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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017651">The Little Serpent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylWritesStuff/pseuds/SylWritesStuff'>SylWritesStuff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anathema and Newt are Button Quails, Aziraphale’s family is the actual worst, Blood and Injury, Characters to be added, Demons are Fae, Fae Crowley (Good Omens), Human AU, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Royalty AU, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), angels are human, fairytale AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:47:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylWritesStuff/pseuds/SylWritesStuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A fae in the form of a serpent has been slithering beyond the border of his forest for centuries, peeking in on the humans and developing a curiosity for them beyond as food. One day, when he hears talk of a prince returning from far off lands, the ever curious serpent seeks out this new human.</p><p>When the fascinating prince is injured at the onset of winter, the serpent decides that hibernating isn't for him this season. This prince needs someone to keep an eye on him, and there are flimsier excuses to want a pair of legs. If only he could keep his voice, this would be a lot easier.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Street Snek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to my betas, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface">SkimmingTheSurface</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona">ladydragona</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24">freyjawriter24</a></p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A snake wants eyelids, admires humans, and a prince is incredibly sweet.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I wasn't planning on writing this anytime soon, but the GO-Events discord server encouraged my insanity when they saw my "leggy snek" notes. So this one's for all of you 💖</p><p>Thanks in particular to <a>Liquid_Lyrium</a> for suggesting button quails for Anathema and Newt. It's worked out perfectly, and they're adorable.</p><p>Also this one's definitely inspired by Disney's Little Mermaid, but it's so tightly wrapped up in Good Omens that I hope the parallels are dim at best. Though our friendly serpent does very much want to be where the people are.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In theory, it was very easy to be a snake. No limbs to worry about, jaws unhinging whenever he needed them to, no lips getting chapped, no eyelids. Well, not having eyelids could be a problem sometimes. It was really the only thing he wanted.</p><p>Well...</p><p>No, no. Eyelids. That’s it. If he had eyelids, it would be easier not to get distracted when he wanted a nice, long nap. Leaves blowing in the breeze could be a real distraction. So, yes, if he could get some eyelids, he’d be happy. Thrilled, even.</p><p>Though the limbs did look rather nice. All different lengths and widths to match the rest of the human body, but fascinating. He liked the things legs were attached to, too. The... the waist? Yeah. And the round bit on the backside. He liked watching that too, and he wasn’t exactly what anyone would call picky on what or who he watched.</p><p>Again, no eyelids. One saw a whole lot when closing one’s eyes was literally impossible. Even for a fae, which was incredibly offensive. He should be able to do what he wanted as a fae, yes? Yes. But those were the <em>rules</em>, and it was the single most frustrating part of being him. They were animals first, bound to their forms for all time. It could be wretched. </p><p>The company wasn’t much better.</p><p>“Crawly,” the frog hopping alongside him ribbited, his skin slimy and wet. <em>He</em> had eyelids. <em>And</em> limbs. Not really any of the rest of it, though, which was probably for the best. He couldn’t imagine the slimy git would look very attractive as a human. Though, really, he was probably unfairly biased. He thought the same about the chameleon skittering along leaves, leathery skin changing colors on a whim. Also had limbs and eyelids. The snake didn’t hiss, but he wanted to.</p><p>“Hassstur, Ligur. To what do I owe the dissspleasure?” Okay, he hissed a bit. But it could at least be written off as natural. Part of not having lips, he imagined. Lips would be nice. Lips were a thing he looked at too, the way humans bit into them or wetted them with their pink tongues. So oddly shaped, human tongues. Not long, slender, and forked like his. He rather liked his, though he was careful not to let it peek out too much. With these two flanking him, the scent could only be described as, ah, <em>unpleasant</em>.</p><p>“We’ve been told to keep an eye on you. No sneaking into the village,” Ligur snarled. Not that a chameleon could easily snarl, mind. It was all in the tone. </p><p>“Not after last time,” Hastur agreed, seeming entirely too pleased.</p><p>“Oi, that wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t doing anything at all.”</p><p>“That’s the problem with you, Crawly. You never do anything at all.”</p><p>He stopped short, head lifting in offense to tower over them both. He was long. Two metres of black scales rippled down his back, soaking in all the light when he found a good patch of sun to bask in. The red underbelly was rich and vibrant as the apples along the edge of the forest. The line of them wasn’t quite the barrier between them and humans, but humans certainly knew well enough not to go beyond it. It wasn’t safe, their stories said, to go into the forest. Not since their Queen had ventured beyond it some years before and emerged with a husband no one could explain. Even the fae couldn’t seem to agree on what that meant, on who the husband had been. He’d died soon enough anyway, so it hardly mattered. He’d only given the Queen one child.</p><p>Now the eldest son - born of her first marriage - sat upon the throne. King Gabriel, by his own decree and no one else’s, ruled this part of the human world whilst his mother travelled. Mourning her second husband still, some said, decades later. Crawly had his own opinions on that, as he always did, but he only shared those opinions with a pair of button quails who he deigned to call friends. Why they stuck around was a mystery, though it may have had something to do with the fact that he hadn’t swallowed either of them whole when he’d happened upon them. Little Newton’s wing had been badly damaged in a fall and a little touch of fae healing had worked that right out. It had also bonded the little duo to him, it seemed, as they’d been given voices with that little spot of healing.</p><p>Not his fault, mind. It was difficult to focus magic sometimes, particularly when healing was as difficult as it was. Still, they were wise enough - at least little Anathema was - to stay away from the fae-controlled parts of the forest. </p><p>“I do <em>plenty</em>,” he snapped, the end of his body flicking irritably. Sometimes, he put a rattler on the end when he wanted to appear particularly threatening, but it wasn’t the right approach to take with these two. “And I wasn’t planning on heading into the village. I’m <em>hungry</em>.”</p><p>“Ooh, the mighty Crawly gonna gobble up some beast? What’ll it be today?” Ligur demanded, smiling as well and as viciously as a chameleon could. </p><p>“Maybe a chameleon and a frog,” he muttered, slinking back down so he could slither on.</p><p>“You don’t eat,” Hastur insisted. “None of us eat.”</p><p>“Hastur, you don’t eat because even the flies avoid you.”</p><p>Hastur croaked dangerously and the snake sped up. The last thing he wanted was that tacky tongue on any of his scales. “But I eat,” he muttered, which was something of a lie. He <em>could</em> eat and, when told to, he’d unhinge his jaw and swallow whoever needed swallowing. He knew the laws they were bound by in their spot of the forest, the ruler they had to obey. A faun called Lucifer, one of the few able to regularly shift between human and animal and often comfortable in a state in-between the two. He could go amongst the humans and did so regularly. Sneaking along with him once - an accident much like giving Anathema and Newt voices - had been life changing. Humans were so <em>interesting</em>.</p><p>He crossed the barrier, magic shimmering along his scales like a warm waterfall to shrink him to a much more manageable thirty centimetres, and took the momentary separation as his opportunity to dive into the dirt and wriggle away. As he burrowed through the loose soil, he wished for some limbs that could actually dig. He couldn’t go far and the holes he normally found to hide in were usually occupied by things which did not take kindly to a sudden snake in their midst, whatever size he decided to be.</p><p>He listened to Hastur’s angry croaking and watched Ligur’s quick scuttling from under cover of dirt and a few fallen leaves. The fae world they lived in was in a perpetual state of summer, but the season was turning in the human realm. Luckily for him, his underbelly was a pretty good camouflage in the human autumn. He rolled onto his back as cautiously as he could when Ligur came a little too close, stopping his need for air and watching him upside-down.</p><p>“You’ll regret this, Crawly!” Hastur shouted, his voice shaking the leaves overhead and sending a few birds scattering. Many would be migrating soon, but the quails would not.</p><p>When Hastur and Ligur disappeared back beyond the barrier, the snake rolled back over. “It’s Crowley,” he muttered to no one, not wanting them to hear it anyway, and made his way through the loose soil until he felt far enough away to emerge safely. He shook away the dirt with a few good wiggles and kept going. His head lifted soon, cheer replacing the disquiet the fae realm always filled him with. They could be so vicious, and he just didn’t have the patience for it any longer. He’d been alive longer than the walls surrounding the village. That first visit into their world in Lucifer’s basket had been to a tiny scattering of mud huts and farms. Crowley had watched in utter fascination as they’d built up, baking their mud into rectangles in the sun and then carving stones and planting the trees along the edges of the forest and erecting a castle and then fixing said castle when it had crumbled. They were on castle three and this one was, by far, Crowley’s favorite.</p><p>White walled and rounded, it looked more comfortable and grand than the previous squat, square, grey predecessors. The various flags which had flown over the castles had changed time and time again as well and, once again, the current iteration was his favorite to date. Wings - one black, one white - linked over a background as blue as the sky. No one knew quite what it meant, if overheard rumours in the village were to be believed, but the Queen had designed and hoisted it herself before leaving so even the so-called King Gabriel left it in place. </p><p>He scented the air, tongue peeking out when he heard familiar chirping. One overhead and one scurrying across the leaves, as they were wont to do. Anathema reached him first, brown speckled feathers shaking out as she made her landing. “Hey, Crowley! We were wondering if we’d see you today.”</p><p>“Were you?”</p><p>A multi-colored bird rolled haphazardly across the leaves, blue and red feathers puffing as he struggled to right himself. “Um. Hello,” he greeted from his back, wings flapping uselessly.</p><p>Crowley just tipped him up with the side of his head. If he had eyelids, he thought, he’d blink very slowly at the ridiculous creature so he’d know just how unimpressive he was. As it was, he swung his attention back to Anathema. “Got waylaid. Apparently, I’ve been heading into the village too much.”</p><p>“Well... You did cause a panic last week.”</p><p>He didn’t rear back in quite the same way he had with Hastur and Ligur, a sudden rattle on his tail shaking wickedly to make up for it. Not even Newton jumped. Ingrates. Maybe he <em>would </em>eat something just to show them. “So I fell off the baker’s tray. It’s not my fault.”</p><p>He’d just been trying to get a glimpse of the youngest prince. He’d never seen him before, sent away as he’d been for schooling for so many years. At least, that’s what the rumours had said. He was the only child of the Queen’s who had ever been sent off, and his arrival had been met with much curiosity and celebration. Curiosity Crowley had in spades.</p><p>Really, he’d just been sunbathing on the roadside when he’d heard passing humans rushing in from the fields saying things like, “He walks about town as if he’s a commoner!”</p><p>“He looks like a cherub.”</p><p>“They say his eyes change colours with the winds.”</p><p>Well, how was a serpent supposed to stay away from things like <em>that</em>? Crowley certainly didn’t know, so off he’d gone. He’d slithered right into town and up the side of a building, springing rooftop to rooftop in a fashion most unbecoming of snakes and not at all something he’d ever want to be <em>seen</em> doing, until he’d come across the crowd. Down the side of the building he’d gone and, as luck would have it, there the baker had been. In his eagerness, he held aloft a tray filled hot cross buns, and Crowley had simply dropped atop them. The baker was an enormous bloke, after all, and held the tray high, so he hadn’t been worried about being seen.</p><p>But then he’d heard the most musical voice say, “Oh, what have you got there? It smells scrummy.”</p><p>Tilt. Flop. Whoops.</p><p>Someone had screamed “Snake!” at the top of their lungs and it had all been over, someone else shouting, “Your Highness, back away! It’s probably poisonous!”</p><p>He’d only gotten a look at solid brown shoes and the cuffs of cream-coloured trousers before he’d slithered right back out of town, entirely missing whatever that musical voice had been saying about, “Well, venomous would be the correct-”</p><p>Not his fault the screaming and searching for a “red-bellied snake” had hit the edges of the forest, torches aloft even as feet shuffled uncertainly. It was the closest to a mob invasion the forest had had in several centuries and there was only one red-bellied snake in this part of the fae realm.</p><p>So, yes, whoops, but not his fault. He’d insist on that for eternity. The prince shouldn’t have asked about hot cross buns. He had access to the bloody royal kitchens. What did he want with some damn commoner’s food? None of the other royal family would’ve bothered, but none of the others seemed to ever care about leaving their grand castle without an entourage and carriage, as if dirtying the bottoms of their shoes would be the height of disgrace. Maybe it was supposed to be? Crowley didn’t know.</p><p>He did want to know more about the prince, though, even more curious about him now.</p><p>“Anyway, I’m heading back. Unlesss either of you two have ssseen him?”</p><p>Newt’s head bobbed, a little music twittering free. “We have. He went into the bakery just yesterday and came back out with a pastry. Then he walked to the library. We never saw him leave.”</p><p>The library had been the mysterious second husband’s idea, built before his passing and filled with tome after tome. Crowley had slithered his way in there out of curiosity once, rather enjoying slipping up and across the bookshelves. The books had felt nice against his scales, the scent somehow comforting even though he was heedless as to why. Unfamiliar scents had never been comforting to him in the past, but he was hardly one to say no to his instincts. He <em>liked</em> his instincts. He liked being a snake.</p><p>He just... also liked some human things. </p><p>“Library’sss not too bad,” he admitted with a little wobble of his head. “Probably not ssstill there if it was yesssterday.”</p><p>“He might go back,” Anathema offered. “I could take another peek.”</p><p>“Nah. Sss’fine.” Trying to appear as if he wasn’t the most eager snake to ever exist - Was it his fault the rumours had snagged his attention? Was it his fault he hadn’t gotten a look? Was it his fault the prince’s <em>voice</em> had intrigued him? - Crowley slithered along the forest floor with two eager little quails pitter-pattering through the leaves with their quick little legs. “Ssso what did he look like?”</p><p>“A human,” Newt rather unhelpfully announced, a little flap of his wings sending him over a root. “He’s got nest hair.”</p><p>“Short and curly,” Anathema confirmed. “We didn’t get very low to see him clearly, but we saw him waving and stopping at every single stand in the market. And the baker again.”</p><p>Crowley hummed, glad his little slip up hadn’t tarnished the baker’s favour with the royal. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had, necessarily, but he very much preferred it not. Chaos was fine when it was intentional. It was <em>fun</em> when it was intentional, but the rest-</p><p>“Crowley!”</p><p>He stopped short at the sharp chirp, looking back at the birds just as he heard the high whinnies. Crunching up, he swung his head up and nearly blasted the air with a burst of magic to keep the reared horses from crushing him beneath their pawing hooves when he heard that melodic voice. “Oh, no! Down, my dears!”</p><p>“Your Highness, perhaps you should- Your Highness!”</p><p>The driver’s protests were all in vain as a man wiggled off the bench. He kicked up some dust when he landed on the road, but quickly made his way around to one of the horse’s sides. He latched onto the reins, and Crowley’s very unthinkable jaw dropped. He <em>was</em> a cherub. Whatever a cherub was. It sounded like it should be something innocent and soft, and this human certainly fit the bill. His hair was as short and curly as advertised, but it was such a pale colour as to nearly be white. He was round in the way only royalty seemed to easily achieve, round in the way that made Crowley want to wind around and hold.</p><p>Like a pillow, he thought, watching his fingers stroke along a horse’s neck until it settled. The other seemed to relax simply from proximity, and the prince smiled at it. “There we are. All’s well. Silly things,” he cooed, two noses pressing against his palms.</p><p>Some distant, desperate part of Crowley was <em>jealous</em>. Which was ridiculous. He’d never been jealous of a human touching an animal in all his centuries. Envy was not one of his faults. Unless they were discussing eyelids and limbs and- Nevermind.</p><p>Shaking his head, the prince turned to head back to the driver’s side, the man still blustering over the impropriety of the prince calming the steeds. But time seemed to swivel to an abrupt halt for Crowley, all sound bleeding away into a distant, faint buzzing when he found his lidless eyes locking with sparkling blue ones. They were like the daytime sky, but twinkled like nighttime stars. “Oh, it’s you,” the prince said, something like fond recognition in his tone, and Crowley wiggled helplessly in response. “Did you spook the horses, my dear?”</p><p>Not intentionally, but he only gave another helpless wiggle. He <em>could</em> talk to humans, but it wasn’t worth the risk.</p><p>“Poor thing.”</p><p>“Your Highness, back <em>away</em>-”</p><p>“Yes, yes, in a mo’.” The prince stepped closer, holding out his hand like one might do to a startled dog, and crouched down. Crowley would’ve hissed a laugh if he hadn’t immediately uncoiled and slithered closer to that outstretched palm. He’d been jealous not a minute earlier; he was <em>not</em> passing up his own chance to feel the warmth of those hands against his scales.</p><p>The prince laughed when Crowley slid what amounted to a chin across his fingers. “There now. I knew you weren’t a dangerous thing, but who’s going to listen to me?”</p><p>There was an edge of bitterness in the question, which was baffling. The man was a prince. Anyone would listen to him. Everyone should. If Crowley could blink, he would’ve blinked questioningly. Instead, he chanced sliding up a bit higher.</p><p>“Your Highness!” the driver squawked, but the prince stood with Crowley gathered in his arms in spite of him. “Don’t touch it! The blasted thing might bite you!”</p><p>“That’s enough. I’ve told you, I will be with you in just one moment. Calm yourself lest you spook the horses and my little friend here.” Crowley scented the air, taking in the warm scents of vanilla and leather. Some of the bourbon, even, kept at the pub. Interesting. “Don’t you mind a word. You’re quite the lovely creature, aren’t you?” Crowley preened a bit, lifting his head to show off the way his scales rippled in the sunlight and was rewarded with a delighted chuckle. “A clever, lovely creature, I see. Now you stay away from well-travelled roads, won’t you? I would so hate to see harm come to you.”</p><p>The prince carried him to the edge of the forest, stepping into the shade of his apple tree. The driver wasn’t able to leave his post without risking allowing the horses to bolt, but he was nearly purple from his shouts of protest. The forest was dangerous, he was saying now, as if that was a thing anyone in the village would forget. Even someone who'd spent several years away. The prince crouched down again, encouraging Crowley to slide out of his hold and into the grass. “There we are. Have a wonderful day, my dear.” He gently took two fingers from the top of Crowley’s head, down his back, and the serpent went still under the touch but for another flick of his tongue. </p><p>“If you wouldn’t scandalise my family, I believe I’d bring you along,” the prince murmured, a little sadly, but then he rose and dusted himself off. “Safe travels, you silly serpent.”</p><p>As he walked back to the carriage, Crowley melted into the grass more like a limp noodle than a proper fae being. He’d never been bundled up in such soft hands before, never been stroked so gently, never been complimented so effortlessly. He’d never a lot of things that had just happened in one single meeting, so if he let his gaze linger on nice thick limbs and a lovely round bottom, it wasn’t his fault. He was caught up in the moment, that was all.</p><p>“Wow,” Newt said, disturbing the liquid peace running through Crowley’s cold-blooded veins. “He’s pretty nice.”</p><p>Crowley didn’t look at him, watching the prince boost himself back up to the carriage bench beside the furious driver. He didn’t take the reins, but he let out a whistle and the horses began to trot forward again. “Could sssay that.”</p><p>“He’s supremely nice,” Anathema added with a little shake of her feathers. “Especially since you were so <em>stupid</em>.”</p><p>He reared back, unable to see the prince anymore anyway. “<em>Wot</em>?!”</p><p>“You didn’t even <em>look</em>! Do you know how dangerous that was, Crowley?” Her wings created quite the impressive little breeze to maximise her offense. He’d barely have to unhinge his jaw to eat her, he mused. “You’re lucky those horses didn’t crush you! You just shot out right in front of them!”</p><p>“I’m fae,” he spat as if she’d forgotten. “I could’ve frozen them in placsse. Made the humans forget I’d even been there.”</p><p>“Like you remembered to do in town last week?”</p><p>Crowley couldn’t purse lips that didn’t exist, but his throat attempted to eek out an excuse but only came out with sounds like “ngk” and “mnngh” and “hwedghe,” which was quite impressive but still no closer to an actual response. Giving up, he twisted away and checked either side of the road before he slithered across. The quails hopped after him at varying degrees of annoyance - meaning that one was being very quietly understanding and the other was Anathema. “Look,” he finally said, “if I <em>had</em> made them forget before I left, the princsse wouldn’t have recognised me.”</p><p>“So suddenly you want to be recognised?”</p><p>“He did slither right into his hands like a pet cat,” Newt added.</p><p>“That’sss an offencsse to me and to catsss,” Crowley muttered, belly dragging across the dirt and through his preferred crack in the gate. He may or may not have put it there with his magic, but the local rat population certainly appreciated its presence so its use had thus far proven to be two-fold. Anathema and Newt squeezed through behind him, as tiny as the rats, and both took up residence on his back when he spread himself out a bit wider for them. Neither minded the rocking and rolling of his body as he made his way towards the library.</p><p>If he was disappointed that the carriage had not deposited the youngest prince at its doors, he said nothing to the two birds, and sent them off before he snuck inside to curl up amongst the books to nap. But the prince didn’t appear that day, nor the next, so Crowley eventually uncoiled himself with an unhappy hiss and made his way back into the forest to, er, face the music. He didn’t know who had come up with that phrase, but he hated it. Music shouldn’t be faced; it should be enjoyed.</p><p>News from Newt and Anathema that the royal caravan had left the village during his nap - taking both the king and the youngest prince away - didn’t make things any better for him. One little interaction was not going to be enough, something which had never happened with a human before. Not for him. They were all equally fascinating.</p><p>This human, though? Well, Crowley didn’t think he would ever find someone as worth watching ever again. Hopefully he came back soon and wasn’t being sent away for <em>more</em> schooling. The prince seemed to be the most intelligent part of the royal family. Or at least the most human.</p><p>And weren’t those ultimately the same thing?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For once their first meeting doesn't involve rain! It almost feels blasphemous.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Garden Snek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prince Aziraphale seems to like having Crowley around as much as Crowley likes being around, though danger is right around the corner.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to my betas, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface">SkimmingTheSurface</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona">ladydragona</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24">freyjawriter24</a></p><p>CW: Blood mentions, non-graphic wound depictions, minor character death.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The prince did indeed return after a far shorter time than feared, Crowley content to sun on a rock he fashioned amidst the apple trees as he waited. He spent quite a bit of time sunning himself on it, days drifting and blending into one another until the royal carriage finally emerged before his sleeping eyes. The rattling woke him, though one wouldn’t be able to tell from how much he moved. A benefit to not having eyelids was always appearing to be awake. No one liked to creep up on someone who never slept. After a quick search to be sure no other fae - specifically a frog or a chameleon - had crept up on him during his nap, Crowley slithered across the road and beyond the gate. He moved quicker than a snake ought to be able to, catching up to the carriage and springing himself onto a narrow step on the rear quarter to ride in some form of style.</p><p>They went right through the mighty fence blocking the castle from the rest of the village. Crowley watched the gates shut with a hum of interest. He’d never gotten so close to the structure before as that tended to require passing by quite a few humans. For all his boasting about his powers, he knew it wasn’t strictly <em>wise</em> to use them at every opportunity. For one, it drew attention to them. And, B, it was physically draining.</p><p>When the driver brought the horses to a stop, Crowley was treated to the sight of a single human trumpeting something painfully tuneless and announcing the return of His Majesty, King Gabriel and His Highness, Prince Aziraphale. </p><p><em>Aziraphale</em>.</p><p>The so-called king stepped out first, looking quite regal in the royal garb. All whites and grays and, since taking charge, a hint of lavender. Crowley didn’t get it, but didn’t spend a moment longer than necessary dwelling on it when the second person stepped out of the carriage. He brushed aside the valet’s attempt to help him down, smile soft but tired. Crowley wiggled, dropping off the step to the ground in an attempt to get closer to the prince. Where had they gone?</p><p>“Gabriel, they addressed you improperly.”</p><p>He was tall and, Crowley could admit, handsome enough by human standards. But there was a tightness around his eyes, the crinkles of his smile less than friendly. “It’s a simpler form of address, Aziraphale.”</p><p>“You are the acting king,” he pressed anyway. “So long as mother is alive, you are still a prince.”</p><p>“You’re tired, sunshine, and forgetting yourself. It’s been a long few weeks.” A firm hand - too firm, for the loud <em>clap</em> it made - fell to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Take a good soak and a nap. I’ll see you for dinner.”</p><p>“Of course,” Aziraphale murmured, hands clasping behind his back. Crowley could see pieces of his hands turning white where they bent - what were they called? Joints? Hand-joints? Finger-bendy-spots, he didn’t know. But they didn’t look like they were supposed to turn so very white. </p><p>Gabriel didn’t notice, giving Aziraphale another one of those smiles before he turned to stride up the castle steps and through the heavy wooden doors, held open by two patient guards. They thudded shut behind him when it became clear that the younger prince would not be following. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed East.</p><p>Crowley followed, keeping low and hoping his inky blackness wouldn’t be seen amongst the pristine near-whiteness of the ground beneath him. It felt different from normal dirt, though he wasn’t at all certain why the royal family would need different <em>dirt</em>. Baffling, absurd creatures. It was a relief when the prince slipped into a garden, much of it still vibrant and green. A few bushes and trees were giving into the change of seasons, but the burnt ambers and reds were as stunning as the rest. To Crowley’s utter and complete embarrassment, some of the flowers stood at attention when Aziraphale passed by. Though if he noticed the lifts of petals, he didn’t say anything.</p><p>He kept his gaze ahead of him until he reached the Eastern wall. Crowley watched him carefully brush a few vines away, head lifting out of the grass in surprise when it revealed a doorway. Aziraphale opened it and Crowley only just made it through himself before it shut, some of his coils accidentally brushing against an ankle.</p><p>Aziraphale chuckled, Crowley distracted entirely from his surroundings when he looked right up into the same stunningly blue eyes he’d been thinking about for days upon days. “Migrated, have we? Is being a street serpent so tiring that you’ve decided to attempt being a garden one?”</p><p>Crowley scented the air, relieved not to taste any anger, and Aziraphale’s smile spread. Unlike Gabriel’s, it took over every part of his expression. Lips curving, cheeks pinkening, eyes crinkling and twinkling - he was beautiful. By far more standards than just human. “Well, you’re very lucky it was I who stumbled upon you and not one of my siblings. Or half-siblings, as they feel the need to remind me.”</p><p>Some of the smile faded and Crowley nudged his chin against the top of Aziraphale’s shoe. “Do you know, my dear, it would seem that you understand me.” Crowley was very careful not to move at that, wary of being found out so easily, but Aziraphale carefully crouched and gave him another one of those two-fingered strokes. It was the same as the first, from the top of his head right down his back, so of course he slid himself right into Aziraphale’s hand when he offered his palm, and then up his arm when that was encouraged.</p><p>He was soft, just as he’d imagined. Soft and warm, Crowley’s coils wrapping around his arm once his own chin was nestled on the prince’s shoulder. It was just the sort of welcome he’d long-since stopped expecting from humans. They liked the softer creatures - the cats, the dogs, the occasional bird. Not him. Not smooth scales and no limbs and no sounds designed to be charming - all he could do naturally was hiss and make the occasional click. Anything more than that, and it was dangerous territory. </p><p>“My, you are an affectionate thing. I had two snakes, you know, while away at school. I wasn’t allowed to keep them when I left, so you’re quite the welcome sight.” He looked around, lowering his voice as if admitting to quite the secret. “I named them Adam and Eve for the irony of the forest being shielded by apple trees. None of my siblings appreciated it, but I was hoping you might.”</p><p>Crowley scented his skin, tickling his neck in the process, and was treated to a delighted giggle. “Oh, you wily serpent. I’ll take that as a yes.”</p><p>Crowley nestled onto his shoulder in satisfaction and finally looked about, surprised to find them on the water. It was small, Crowley easily able to see from their side to the opposite, but there was a pier jutting across it. Aziraphale strode along the wooden planks, hardly jostling Crowley as they went. From his pocket, he withdrew a small pouch. Intrigued, Crowley wriggled along until he was draped across both of Aziraphale’s shoulders and snug against the back of his neck, freeing his arm and freeing the serpent to look about better. </p><p>“This isn't for you,” Aziraphale tutted, misunderstanding the intentions. “I didn't even know you would be here. It's for them.”</p><p><em>Them</em> was a group of ducks. They swam into view, one after the other, and were very happy with the seeds the prince took from his bag and scattered about the serene waters. “They'll leave soon,” the prince murmured. “The pond freezes over each year, so it isn't safe for them. I'm sure you hibernate, don't you? Find yourself a nice burrow.”</p><p>No, he largely stayed in the fae realm through winter. He'd seen snow only once and it had nearly killed him. He'd been so sluggish and tired. He buried his face in the curve of Aziraphale’s neck, suddenly too aware that he was going to miss this human when the weather turned from crisp to freezing. He was something of an angel, if such things even existed, and Crowley had seen very little of that sort. </p><p>They stayed out a while on the water, Aziraphale chatting as if Crowley could understand a single word. He could, of course, but the human prince could hardly know that. He spoke of things of little consequence, just mild complaints of unpleasant sibling behaviour which he immediately justified and commented on the village they'd gone to visit. “I had to give my blessing over an arranged marriage,” he scoffed. “Just the expected thing to do for a young prince, I suppose, but it was my first royal duty in so long, Gabriel felt the need to accompany me. Do you know he thinks I'm being quite frivolous?” </p><p>Crowley did not know, but he brushed against that warm neck in sympathy. “He doesn't like my tartan, either. He says my cravat is most unbecoming of the family, but it <em>is</em> my family. Heaven's Dress was the cloth of my father and, presumably, his father and so-on and so-forth. I could, perhaps, not wear it, but that would feel so disrespectful. Moreover, I highly doubt the others would stop calling me half-brother were I to stop. So is there really a point? Can I not be happy, little serpent?” </p><p>That was an easy enough answer: of course he should be happy. Of course he should be able to do as he liked, wear what he wanted, honour who'd sired him. Heaven's Dress, indeed. It wasn't anything Crowley recognised, so perhaps his father had just been a wandering stranger, lost in the forest. Yes. It must be that simple. Though it certainly solidified Crowley’s decision that the youngest prince was an angel. </p><p>All too soon, they had to part. Aziraphale had duties to attend to and having a snake draped across him like some fine jewelry would hardly be acceptable. He gave Crowley a parting stroke and a warm smile before nestling him in the grass and whispering, “Perhaps I'll dig a burrow for you so you might while your winter away here and reappear like spring blooms when the weather warms.”</p><p>He would love to, golden eyes wishing they could blink and head wishing it could nod. He couldn't be too obvious, though, so only lifted up into one more stroke and watched Aziraphale walk back through the secret door in the Eastern wall. </p><p>Two quails landed, one more of a heap and the other quite graceful. “Having fun with the prince?” Newt asked from his side, feathers fluffed and rumpled. </p><p>It was a genuine question, far more so than Anathema’s wave of wings. She wanted to know as well, but teasingly. “Did you talk to him? Tell him how cute you think he looks?” </p><p>“I don't think he's cute,” he denied. There were far better words to describe the angelic prince. “And I didn't talk to him. The lassst thing I need to do is ssspook the man.”</p><p>“Why, because he's cute?” </p><p>The good thing about not having eyelids was just how intense a stare could be. The bad thing about befriending prey was how easily they saw through the threats. Anathema wiggled, her chirps like laughter. “He needs a friend. That'sss all,” Crowley insisted, wiggling across the grass. “Sssomeone who’ll lisssten to him.”</p><p>“He’s a prince, though. Aren’t humans supposed to listen to those?” Newt wondered.</p><p>“Not if they’re royalty too.”</p><p>And so it went for a few short weeks, Crowley popping in on Aziraphale in his gardens or in the library. He couldn’t read any of the words and Aziraphale didn’t talk to him when his nose was in a book, but he very quickly grew to love the time spent with him there. He usually hid in Aziraphale’s jacket, hidden away from the librarian and others who would come to peek in on their youngest prince. The company rarely stayed long as Aziraphale was very adept, in his politely firm way, at getting people to leave him be when there was a book open before him. Crowley just enjoyed the snug, cosy feeling of being pressed up against that broad back. His body heat was as welcoming as the sun overhead, the air in the human realm more and more crisp when he’d venture into it.</p><p>He’d have to stop crossing through the veil soon. But he’d come back with spring and... Well, hopefully Aziraphale wouldn’t leave. With the magic of their voices, Anathema and Newt had passage through the barrier and Crowley had no doubt they’d let him know if anything so awful as that happened. If the snake contemplated sneaking aboard his carriage - cold weather be damned - that was his prerogative. </p><p>It couldn’t happen, ever, as his absence would be <em>noticed</em> before too long and punishment would be swift upon his return, but it was a nice thought to entertain.</p><p>All time with Aziraphale and thoughts of him tended to be nice. His body heat and his kindness and eyes - if they did change as rumour claimed, Crowley had yet to see it. They were always that bright, sparkling blue when he’d look at him.</p><p>One afternoon, though, things changed. He was jostled awake when Aziraphale rose sharply, nearly falling down his back entirely if he hadn’t hooked his snout in the man’s waistcoat. “Michael! What- What are you doing here?”</p><p>“There have been rumours, Aziraphale, that you’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time amongst the commoners.” </p><p>Crowley didn’t know who this Michael was, but they sounded decidedly rude and he didn’t like the bit of fear he scented when his tongue flicked against the back of Aziraphale’s neck. He gasped and Crowley ducked back down. Whoops.</p><p>“Is that surprising to you, Aziraphale?”</p><p>“No! I mean- I mean, well, I only- I wasn’t expecting... Gosh, <em>rumours</em>. It sounds so salacious.”</p><p>“Is it?”</p><p>Aziraphale’s next gasp had nothing at all to do with Crowley. “Good Lord, Michael, do you really need to ask such a thing?”</p><p>They gave a noncommittal hum. “They say you come to the library and sit for hours. You’re no longer in school, Aziraphale. You’re an adult, royalty, and you need to begin acting as such. You’ll be leaving on a goodwill tour tomorrow. You’ll be gone a month.”</p><p>“A <em>month</em>?!”</p><p>And there went the season. Crowley wanted to close his eyes, press his face between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades and pretend it wasn't real. A month was nothing for him. He was centuries old now, but he hadn’t been prepared just yet. Bollocks. Bollocks to this whole royal family.</p><p>“You wanted to come home, Aziraphale. Being home necessitates adhering to your royal duties. Since you seem to gain such pleasure in being among the commoners, you’ll be going on a tour of goodwill. There seems to be a touch of... unrest in some places.”</p><p>Unrest? Were they sending his angel somewhere dangerous, then? Bastards. All of them.</p><p>“Well, perhaps if Gabriel could, ah... practice a bit of restraint...”</p><p>“Aziraphale, I certainly hope you aren’t attempting to know better than your acting king. Mother did put him in charge.”</p><p>“Did she? You are the eldest, Michael.” Following those words, a quiet tension lingered in the air. It tasted disgusting, like sour ash on the tongue. Bleh. But then Aziraphale’s shoulders sagged on a slow, soft sigh. “No, of course, I... You’re right. Deepest apologies, Michael. I’ve only been home a little over a month. I suppose I- I’ve been settling in, yes.”</p><p>“Perhaps too much.”</p><p>He flinched as if he’d been slapped.</p><p>“Come along, Aziraphale. The carriage will take us back to the palace.”</p><p>“Right now? I-”</p><p>“Right. Now.”</p><p>It was a tone that brokered no arguments, so Aziraphale closed the book he’d been enjoying and slipped it back onto its shelf. “Of course. Ah. Right behind you, Michael.”</p><p>Crowley peeked his head over Aziraphale’s shoulder, tickled his cheek with his tongue, and watched in fascination as dark grey eyes shifted into that familiar bright blue. So they <em>did</em> change. “You silly thing,” he whispered, offering a hand. Crowley slid onto it as he always did, traveling up his arm until Aziraphale had him all gathered up. And then Aziraphale very gently set him on the floor. “Go on, you clever thing. Have a lovely winter, won’t you? Dream of whatever it is you like best.” He gave him a long, smooth stroke that had become as familiar as the space between his shirt and his jacket, and then followed his sibling. </p><p>The serpent slipped into a hole in the wall, suitable for rats and snakes alike, and asked someone to please go infest this Michael’s chambers. The excitable flurry at the prospect of some fine dining encouraged several volunteers and off they went.</p><p>Crowley went home. And waited.</p><p> </p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>“He’s hurt!”</p><p>He lifted his head, shaking it, and would’ve blinked blearily had he any eyelids. “Hm?”</p><p>Anathema’s wings beat the air wildly. “Prince Aziraphale! He’s hurt, you idiot!”</p><p>He reared back with a sharp hiss, his lovely nap in the false summer’s equally false sun forgotten as he flopped off the rock to begin making his hasty way to the barrier. “What do you mean, <em>hurt</em>? How? What happened? Where is he?” </p><p>“We don’t know. Well, we don’t know <em>some</em> of it. Newt and I were in our nest by the apple trees, and we suddenly heard a commotion. A loud bang and then the horses went crazy and then-” She flapped after him, landing and clinging with her tiny talons. Crowley didn’t even feel the sharp points digging into his scales, speeding across the forest floor. No snow had fallen yet, but the chill was immediate, fallen leaves frostily crackling under his weight. “He’s not by the gate. He’s further down the road.” </p><p>He adjusted course, still aiming for the road. He’d find him from there. “How badly is he hurt?”</p><p>“He was- What do humans call the red?”</p><p>“Blood.”</p><p>“There was a lot around him.” Crowley, both long metres of him, sped up, and Anathema clung on for dear life, ducking herself down to make her tiny body as small as she could. She was a bird. She may not have known what blood was called, but she knew how to make herself safe from aerodynamics. Even ones that were less, ah, aerial.</p><p>They burst out of the trees, the world eerily silent but for terrified whinnies of horses struggling to right themselves after a fall and the scrape, scrape, <em>scraaape</em> of a wooden carriage being dragged on its side. He sought Aziraphale quickly, catching a flash of panicky blue and red in the air. Newt. “Oi!”</p><p>“He’s over here! The driver is...” He made a sound one might make before feeding a baby bird, but Crowley didn’t care about the damn driver. He made his way around the carriage to see the prince’s lovely platinum curls soaked with red, his blue eyes closed - fucking <em>eyelids</em> - and two of his limbs in positions even the serpent knew a human’s limbs shouldn’t be in. Blood stained his cream-coloured cloak, pooling across the well-traveled dirt in a sickly puddle that only seemed to be growing by the second. </p><p>Crowley quickly wrapped his long frame around him, Anathema finally hopping off to flutter in the air by Newt’s side whilst Crowley dragged the prince across the road. He shouldn’t have been strong enough to do so, perhaps, but he hadn’t expended much magic on the journey over despite his speed and, well, at his natural size, he was longer than any man and certainly wider than Aziraphale’s waist. He could’ve crushed him, and quite easily, but his hold was as gentle as could be allowed in the effort to save his life. He pushed Aziraphale’s back against a boulder on the roadside, nuzzling along his brow and into his hair until he found the source of all the blood. Well, one of the sources. The other had positively ruined the prince’s traveling cloak, but he’d get to that. This wound on the back of his head - had he landed on a rock? - seemed as if it was bleeding much worse. </p><p>His scales were all over the prince, draped over him and pushing as much magic into him as he could. A blast of the healing magic was aimed at the head wound to seal it and Crowley slid around him, healing Aziraphale’s bent leg as best as he could when he brushed over it. A toss of his head had the cloak leaping off of him, the shirt following. His poor back was riddled with bruises, but there was a long gash along his arm. It poured blood. Crowley shrank down and wrapped himself around the damaged limb, cutting off the circulation long enough to lessen the bleeding and study the unusual wound. It looked like a bitemark, jagged at the edges, but Crowley had never seen a creature bite and then flee. Perhaps he’d just scraped himself on another rock. It was all Crowley could fathom, his mind reeling and his magic rapidly depleting. If he could sweat, he would be. Healing magics were so bloody exhausting.</p><p>“Come on, angel, come on,” he muttered, hardly realising he was speaking at all. “You’re alright. You’re going to be grand in jussst a bit. Jussst a little wreck, isn’t it? Nothing to write home about. Bet you were on that front ssseat again, eh? Got luckier than your driver.” </p><p>He mended the broken bone as he babbled, sealing as much of the wound as he could whilst his magic draughts lowered. He’d lost a <em>lot</em> of blood, his angel. He was still warm, though. The warmest damn thing in all the kingdom, whatever it was called now. Crowley didn’t really give a damn, humans changing names and lands and flags all willy-nilly. He really shouldn’t have given a damn about one single prince. Princes came and went, often with more regularity than average humans. Royals were always getting themselves into trouble, from what little Crowley had observed, and this angelic man was hardly immune to that. He clearly needed someone to keep him safe, since he was just going around sitting on carriage benches and getting himself thrown by spooked horses. Who knew what else could happen to him without help?</p><p>Crowley pushed the top of his head against Aziraphale’s cheek, the affectionate gesture pure instinct. “Just hold on, Aziraphale. <em>Please</em>,” he urged before loosening the hold of his arm and sliding around him to try to tackle - well, not tackle, but <em>fix</em> - the bruises already colouring his back.</p><p>“Mm?” Aziraphale shifted, wincing at the aches and pains still running through his body. “Who-?”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Crowley soothed, carefully avoiding saying anything that might make him hiss as he regained a hazy consciousness. “I’ve got you, angel. Don’t move too much.”</p><p>“My- The horses-”</p><p>“Enough.” Crowley released his arm with a heavy sigh of relief and dropped into the grass. “Help’ll come. You wait.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes squinted open, the hand of his uninjured arm lifting to his head where the gash had largely been sealed. He looked around, but couldn’t twist around to see the snake. “But who are you?”</p><p>Crowley hesitated, a flick of his tail wrapping Aziraphale in the relative warmth of his stained clothes once again. His angel wasn’t going to freeze on his watch. “No one. I’m no one, okay? Ngk. Ressst, angel. You’ll be alright now.”</p><p>He quickly slithered away over Aziraphale’s protests, shrinking himself down even more to force heat through his slender body as he waited for someone - anyone - to make their way to Aziraphale’s side. It was a messenger, gasping when he saw first the driver and second the limp prince against a boulder. “Your Highness! You wait here, sir, I’ll fetch someone straight off. Don’t you worry about a thing, sir.”</p><p>Crowley waited until a crowd arrived, until Aziraphale was hefted - wincing - into the back of a wagon and followed by the village healer. And then he let himself be carried home by the two button quails. It was a humiliating way to travel, but he barely heard Anathema scolding him between exhaustion over the spending of his magic stores and his own cold-blooded nature. That was another thing that might be better as a human. He thought the snow was pretty and all and, well, he would’ve liked to spend some time in it. It just wasn’t possible how he was.</p><p>Making sure Aziraphale healed properly after such an accident wasn’t possible how he was either. Anathema and Newt set him down on a rock under artificial sunlight, neither of them knowing if he was asleep or not and, though it could be dangerous should anyone happen upon them, the two feathered creatures took up posts on either side of the tiny serpent to give him even more warmth. It was nothing short of humiliating because, damn it, they were just <em>birds</em>. He was the one with actual magic. He could’ve eaten them whole without a thought. Could’ve roasted them first with a thought too. It’d take nothing.</p><p>But he couldn’t look in on the prince. He hadn’t even been able to fully heal him since, well, a crash as bad as all that? It would’ve been very suspicious had he gotten off unscathed. At least he’d been awake, awake and understanding. Himself. Immediately concerned for the dumb fucking horses. Whatever had spooked them this time deserved any trampling it may have gotten. </p><p>He didn’t know that he’d get Aziraphale’s bloody body out of his mind for a while yet, if ever. Maybe Anathema and Newt would check on the prince in his stead? Some news would be better than nothing. Going to see him with legs would be better, but that would be...</p><p>He couldn’t turn human. Could he?</p><p>Despite his exhaustion, Crowley stared out at the eternal summer for a very, very long time and wondered.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Probably going to update this Thursdays 💖</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Leggy Snek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the deepest parts of the fae realm, a buzzing prince is willing to make deals. For a price.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to my betas, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface">SkimmingTheSurface</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona">ladydragona</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24">freyjawriter24</a></p><p>In the Disney film, Ariel is a mermaid for nearly a full hour. No wonder that romance always felt so speedy. In lieu of spending an equivalent amount of time, let's give our snek some eyelids.</p><p>cw: Mild snake body horror and lots of flies.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anathema did not agree with the plan. So much so that she was willing to follow him further into the realm than she'd ever been allowed or had felt brave enough to follow before, ignoring all of Crowley’s attempts to flick her right out of the air with his tail. Newt, for his part, was nervously perched on Crowley's back as they went further and further along. The perpetual summer, beautiful at first, second, and even third glance had darkness around its edges as Crowley slithered through the woods.</p><p>They could almost hear the false sun pulsing overhead, thrumming like a heartbeat. For the two birds, it was increasingly unsettling and it didn't help Anathema get on board with the plan. </p><p>“How do you know this'll even work?” </p><p>“I don't.”</p><p>She chirped unhappily, diving down to swat her wings against his head. “Why are we doing this if you don't <em>know</em>?” </p><p>“<em>We</em> are not doing anything,” he growled. “I'm doing thisss. You two shouldn't even be here.”</p><p>Anathema landed next to Newt, frowning as well as a quail could. Most of her displeasure came out in a frustrated huff and a puff of feathers Crowley couldn't see. “Well, we are here. And we're not going anywhere.”</p><p>“No, we're not,” Newt confirmed, though he cast a nervous look upwards as Crowley took them beyond the artificial sun's rays. The forest became denser, the leaves high in the trees overlapping and leaving them shadowed more and more until the only one who could see the path ahead was Crowley, his golden eyes glinting in the dark. He slid across the ground even when grass gave way to dirt, only wincing a little when the terrain deteriorated further and his belly was dragged across the occasional rock poking out. But it’s what he had to deal with, what he had to do, if only for a chance.</p><p>It was a dangerous chance, a dangerous thing to ask, but if anyone could help him, it would be their own prince. Beelzebub could do things no one else in their forest could do. They’d given a vicious barracuda legs once. Crowley had seen Dagon before and after their transformation and now, they could shift back and forth between a humanoid and their animalistic forms whenever they wished. They could never cross the barrier, but they didn’t particularly want to. They were very happy to simply be Beelzebub’s right hand person.</p><p>He hoped they wouldn’t be together that night - or was it daytime still? Whether their artificial sun was obscured or not, time was impossible to tell in the fae realm. It was another thing Crowley didn’t particularly like about it. He couldn’t keep up with humanity as he was, but he certainly could tell when things changed there. It was so refreshing, so exciting. The thought of joining them with legs had him giving an extra little wiggle that almost upended the button quails riding along on his back.</p><p>Right. Those two. “Lisssten, when we get to Princsse Beelzebub’s home, you two have to ssstay out here. Under-” Too many hisses. “Got it?”</p><p>“Why?” Anathema wondered because of course she did.</p><p>It was difficult to roll snake eyes, but Crowley had perfected it over the centuries. “Because they’ll kill you both <em>and</em> me for letting you in here. Now shut it. We’re nearly there.”</p><p>“How- how can you tell?” Newt asked quietly. “Do you come looking for them a lot?”</p><p>Never. He wasn’t suicidal, but desperate times and all that. A slim, forked tongue flicked. “I can sssmell them. Now be quiet. And get off here. I’ll pick you up when I’m done.”</p><p>Anathema chittered. “I don’t like this, Crowley. There are other ways for you to check on the prince.”</p><p>But were there other ways to be around him? He couldn’t take a snake into the palace, but he could surely take a fellow human. He’d just talk to him, explain that he’d been the one to rescue him. Easy as anything. Anathema had her feathers ruffled for absolutely no reason. </p><p>“What if I want to do more than jussst check on him?” he demanded when she didn’t climb off his back. “Aziraphale shouldn’t be treated the way he is in the cassstle. He jussst wantssssomeone to hear him. Sssomeone should.”</p><p>“Why should that someone be you?”</p><p>Crowley waved his head, body swaying more than anything as he made a few helpless, choked noises and struggled with just what he should say. How much he was willing to admit. He’d gotten used to being around Aziraphale so quickly. He’d enjoyed pressing close to him, snuggling against and basking in his warmth. He liked listening to him. He liked the way he smelled. </p><p>But beyond what he already knew was liked, curiosity had a hold of him. He wanted to know what it was like to have Aziraphale’s hand in his. He wanted to know what it was like to stand next to him or behind him or in front of him - anywhere around him, actually, that was close enough to wrap arms around him and discover what that was like. He wanted to know why humans sometimes pushed their lips together and what that might feel like with Aziraphale. He’d felt a kiss from him before, a little peck against the top of his head. It had been nice, that gently firm pressure and the tiniest spot of damp it had left behind. If snakes could blush, he most definitely would have. So he wanted to know what that might be like if he, too, had lips. </p><p>He wanted to know things beyond Aziraphale too. He wanted to taste human food. He wanted to ride in one of their carriages as a passenger. He wanted to ride a horse. He wanted to feel the snow and not freeze half to death doing it. He wanted to walk.</p><p>He wanted to smile.</p><p>That last one was stupid. <em>Smiling</em>. It was such a pedestrian thing to want when everything else seemed so big, and yet... It’s what he wanted. He wanted to have Aziraphale smile at him with those bright blue eyes twinkling, and he wanted to smile back. It should be easy. Walk up to the palace, announce he’d been the one to save the youngest prince’s life, and in he’d go. Or he’d just walk right in, use a touch of magic on the guards, and he’d head straight to wherever Aziraphale’s room was. Humans had a sense of smell, didn’t they? He’d be easy to find. Vanilla, leather, and bourbon - three things Crowley had grown quite fond of and had missed terribly. The last time he’d scented the youngest prince, he’d found that wonderful scent tarnished by the coppery scent of spilled blood and the equally metallic tang of worry.</p><p>“I’m not usually the type who sssaves human lives, am I? I’m fae. I <em>control</em> them.” Or at least he was supposed to. He’d never much gone in for that unless he was following orders. There was a very good reason, actually, why the humans feared the forest. “But he... Well. A human worth sssaving, I think.”</p><p>“And?” she pressed and Crowley wiggled both in an attempt to dislodge her and to convey his embarrassment. </p><p>“What if he needsss more help? His family is wretched. You’ve ssseen that, haven’t you? He might be... sssad and alone. I told you he needs a friend. I’ll only hang ‘round through winter. Then I can change back and hang ‘round him like thisss again, the way I know he likesss.” He’d thought long and hard about just that during his not-nap. Asking for temporary humanity was a lot more likely to work out than asking it to be permanent and, well, what if he hated it? A whole new body could be <em>weird</em>. What if eyelids weren't all they were cracked up to be? </p><p>Besides, Aziraphale would probably miss the snake. Like he obviously missed the two he’d had to leave behind. It was only fair, really, to give them both what they wanted out of this. Crowley could test out being a human, Aziraphale could have a human friend, and then everything would go right back to normal come Spring. </p><p>Sighing, Anathema finally did climb off his back, her and Newt huddling together against a tree trunk. To Crowley, they looked like little heat spots. Could humans see in the dark or were they as lost as the two quails before him? Bleh. He’d better not regret this.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Anathema gave in with a sigh. “Go... turn human, I guess.”</p><p>“Good luck,” Newt wished, sounding more cheerful than Anathema did.</p><p>Crowley bobbed his head, hissed something that more or less sounded like a thank you, and turned to continue crossing the rough grounds. He followed his sense of smell, tongue peeking out again and again as he travelled in search of the prince. Their smell was subtle, just a hint of vomit and something like the sewage villagers poured behind their houses. The scent grew, though, becoming far less subtle and far more unpleasant the closer he got.</p><p>When he was finally able to see a form, it resembled millions of tiny dots. They were so close together, they may as well have been a single being. And, well, weren't they? When Crowley slithered into the small cottage, he hesitated. The walls were thin and covered in holes, the roof was worn and leaking when it was decided that their false sun be covered by dark and thunderous clouds. There was a single, ornate chair in the room and there sat those buzzing creatures. They were so close, so fast, and so specifically coloured that they appeared to be a human. Beelzebub could be a person when they wanted to be, yes, but the prince seemed to like being a buzzing horde of flies. An illusion. </p><p>Cro- Crawly couldn’t fathom why. </p><p>He lifted his head proudly, slithering closer, and scented the air again. No fish. No Dagon. Good. “Princsse Beelzebub,” he greeted, bowing his head when he was close enough to them.</p><p>“Crawly,” they snarled, “what are you doing here?”</p><p>“I, uh...” Oh, er, maybe he hadn’t thought this through. He blamed Anathema. “I have a favour to ask, Your Highness.”</p><p>“A <em>favour</em>?” What looked to be eyes but were actually several well-coordinated flies rolled. “There are never favourz granted for foolz.”</p><p>“Right. Well.” Thinking quickly was one of Crawly’s strong suits, so he lifted up again. “That’sss the point. It’sss winter. Can’t really go out and grab humans in winter. Wouldn’t make it anywhere.”</p><p>They eyed him contemptuously as if they could do any better, being a bunch of bleeding <em>bugs</em>. They’d be dead within seconds of being beyond the barrier in winter, Crawly was sure. “What doez that have to do with me?”</p><p>“I’d like to fill my quota. Get more lossst sssouls wandering into the woodsss for the fae. I left the barrier two days ago, and I didn’t even make it to the road.” It was only a half-lie, told as smoothly as any of his full lies. “I thought, y’know, you could make me human until ssspring. When I can get back to normal.”</p><p>Beelzebub’s massive army of flies stared at him, the illusion of a human disappearing entirely as every eye opened. It was like being peered at by a human-shaped cloud of eyes. It was, in a word, disturbing. In two words: <em>very</em> disturbing. “You want permizzion to go to the village and tempt humanz into entering the forezt... looking like a human yourzelf.”</p><p>Not exactly. “Yesss.”</p><p>“You've never azked for thiz before.”</p><p>“Never thought of it before. That'sss all.” Crawly tossed his head dismissively. “Look, the humans ssstay in their village through winter. Not a lot for anybody to do, and I'm bored.”</p><p>Slowly, the eyes closed again and disappeared back into a version of Beelzebub that vibrated a bit. Less disturbing, but certainly disconcerting. Crawly kept his head lifted, held what was probably their gaze. It was at least a part of their gaze. “What'z in it for me?” </p><p>“Wot?” What looked like lips curled into a dangerous sort of snarl. Since he didn't want to be covered in flies, he didn't ask them to repeat themself. “What do you want from me?” </p><p>“Zomething you cherizh.” </p><p>Crawly’s mind went first to the two birds waiting for him by a tree, then they went to the injured prince. None of those things were an option. Absolutely not. “Princsse Beelzebub, I'm a sssnake. I haven't got anything <em>to</em> cherish. Could always, uh, get you sssomething in the village? Maybe sssome rotted meat from the butcher.”</p><p>“Crawly,” they buzzed, a little disjointed, “do you know what you have?” </p><p>“Ssscales?” He had no idea what they were getting at, their fake smile stretching and stretching in a way no human's would ever do. </p><p>The flies poured out from that fake mouth, losing the appearance of humanity entirely as the tiny creatures surrounded him. Crawly couldn't so much as scent the air lest he smack one of them. That was the last sort of taste he wanted in his mouth. “Crawly, you fool. I know what you cherizh even if you don't.”</p><p>He very much doubted that. If he had eyebrows, he’d quirk them. “Do you?” </p><p>“Your voicze.”</p><p>He reared back. “Wot.”</p><p>The flies buzzed around him, the words they spoke not quite sounding united. “You have nothing but your voicze, Crawly.”</p><p>Well... Well, of course he had a voice. How was he supposed to tempt anyone without talking to them? Humans may have had a tendency to react poorly to him, but he knew how to hide in the shadows when it was called for and whisper. He’d once spent three days driving a man so mad, he’d fled from his bedroom in a panic and had run straight beyond the apple trees. Like any other human who’d crossed into their territory, he’d never left again. It had gotten more difficult to draw humans in over the years, warned as they were about the forest, but Crawly still managed it. Others waited for carriages and coaches to attack or travelled to other fae realms to steal humans, but what was the sense in that?</p><p>There was a whole village right there and it was <em>fun</em> to play with them. He didn’t always, or even usually, tempt them into the forest, but he still liked to stir up mischief. Telling the baker he’d forgotten to add the salt, suggesting to a stablehand that perhaps he hadn’t fed the horses yet. His victims, such as they were, were usually suggestions from the rats. The clever buggers always seemed to know who was a vile human worth driving into the forest and who just needed a particular lesson taught to them, and Crawly was happy enough to provide the right amount of pressure.</p><p>But he <em>needed</em> his voice to do that. And he needed his voice to talk to the prince.</p><p>“I have plenty more than that,” he snipped. “Really, have you even looked at my ssscales? I can probably ssspeed up the shedding procssesss, give you a whole sssleeve of them. Humans ssseem to think they’re great for, er, ssstuff.” Or they used to. He wasn’t sure if they thought the same now, but before the wall had been built he’d occasionally see one of his skins getting picked up by healers and people who seemed to enjoy trying their hands at the darker sides of magic. The idiots.</p><p>“I could rip your szcalez from your body right now if I wanted to.” Crawly scrunched a bit, the flies very much out of sync now. Sections spoke one word at a time, making his head want to swivel around and follow the noise but creeping too close for him to move at all. “One by one.”</p><p>“Right,” he said weakly, mouth barely moving to avoid having one of those buzzing bugs end up down his throat. “Could do.”</p><p>“If you want to play with humanz, Crawly, I want your voicze.”</p><p>How was he going to talk to Aziraphale without a voice? How was he going to do <em>anything</em> without a voice? He didn’t actually care about tempting any extra humans into the woods over the season. He just wanted to spend time around his angel. And all those human things.</p><p>Then again...</p><p>None of the things he wanted to do strictly <em>required</em> the ability to speak. And Aziraphale could talk enough for both of them. He’d done so to Crawly in this serpent form, so why would a human version be any different?</p><p>“Will I, er, get it back come ssspring?”</p><p>“When your legz are gone, your voicze will return.” </p><p>The flies were so close to him now, they were nearly touching his scales. He could feel the gusts of the wind generated by every beat of their tiny wings, though, and it was just as bad as any physical contact from them. It was hot, and the oppressive nearness forced his breaths to puff shallow and quick to avoid snorting a fly up a nostril. “Alright. You can... have my voicsse for a human body. Jussst through winter,” he agreed, hoping they’d leave him be again.</p><p>Instead, they seemed to converge as one. Thousands upon thousands of tiny legs descended as one, so much at once he couldn’t help but feel them. It was like being surrounded by a writhing blanket, and he hated it. He tried to coil, but couldn’t. Tried to toss his head, but couldn’t. Tried to open his mouth and shout, but-</p><p><em>Oh, no</em>.</p><p>Crawly gagged on them, too many stealing down his throat. His jaw could unhinge, but he hadn’t been <em>ready</em>. It was only a few seconds of wings and legs and fat little bodies squirming in his throat, but it felt like hours before they were finally out and the serpent felt as if he’d been pulled inside-out. He tried to gasp, to cough, to protest, but nothing came out. Nothing escaped but soundless puffs of air.</p><p>The flies abruptly left his body, a humanoid form standing before him. Beelzebub held a long silver chain in what was many buzzing flies forming the shape of a human hand. At the end of it, a charm resembling a black and red snake swung. “Hurry up, sznake. You know how well the fae take to humanz in their midzt.”</p><p>Yes, he did. It hurt, though. He hadn’t expected his body to <em>hurt</em>. The flies were gone, but it was as if their tiny legs had poked holes in his scales and stuffed something inside. It was bursting to get out, straining against his skin and making him want to cry out.</p><p>He couldn’t.</p><p>“You’ll need theze,” they taunted, dangling some dark circles on sticks in the other not-hand.</p><p>Crawly snatched them with his fangs, not exactly needing his mouth to talk after all, and turned to slither out of the cabin, barely remembering to pluck up the button quails waiting for him. The pressure was building, but he still took the time to round them up. </p><p>“What happened?” Anathema demanded. “Crowley? That’s you, right?” </p><p>He nodded rapidly, hoping the way his eyes glinted would get the message across. Neither of them made to climb on his back, though, so he headbutted them.</p><p>“Crowley?” Newt fluttered his wings, the soft beat of feathers a much more pleasant feeling than the flies he’d just been subjected to, but he couldn’t make a sound. He could still barely breathe, it hurt so much.</p><p>“What’s your problem?” Anathema followed Newt onto his back, both birds letting out startled chirps when he sped away. Faster than they were used to, far faster than the journey inward. He didn’t even flinch as rocks dragged along his belly, adding a boost of magic to speed himself up even more. Two sets of tiny talons dug into his scales, but he didn’t feel them. He couldn’t feel much of anything beyond that pressure. The stress of it building and building. One day, he might be able to liken it to the pressure in a tea kettle. His ears - wait, wait, he didn’t have-</p><p>He burst through the barrier and hands came up to cover his ringing ears. The metaphorical tea kettle was whistling and was, unfortunately, a lot less like a metaphor than he wanted it to be for a few long minutes. Eventually, he became aware of other sounds. They didn’t feel normal. Sounds usually worked up from his jaw bones, mind deciphering the vibrations of speech. It still seemed to be doing that, but from the sides of his head instead. His hands left his ears as the ringing stopped, long fingers drawing down his cheeks. He put them against the dirt and leaves on the forest floor and just stared at them. Long-fingered, narrow palms, normal looking. He hummed, trying to arch and rear back as he normally did, but it didn’t quite work like normal. His back didn’t feel nearly as bendy he was used to and some sort of instinct had him pushing against his new hands to sit up.</p><p>And that seemed to be the end of his journey of self-discovery because, “What did you do?!” was yelled so loud his ear threatened to ring again. He lifted a hand to clap over it, jumping a little when he felt something land on the opposite shoulder. He turned to look at it, staring at Newt.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he wondered.</p><p>“He’s a <em>human</em>! Of course he’s not alright! He’s an <em>idiot</em>!” Anathema didn’t land on his shoulder, but his head.</p><p>Before Crowley could swat her down, he felt a sharp jab against his scalp then another and another and- An attempt at a yelp gave away nothing but a soft “<em>ngk</em>!”</p><p>When he finally felt his fingers wrap around her, he wasn’t sure how much pressure he needed to use so she wriggled free and flapped down to get in his face. “What were you thinking?! What did this fae prince do to you?”</p><p>Turning human had been the plan. They knew that, so he pettily gestured to his body and she smacked his cheeks with her wings before dropping onto his knee. Oh, he had a knee. Two of them. “Crowley, you know what I mean! What did he do?”</p><p>It was <em>they</em>, but he couldn’t correct her. He gestured to his throat, surprised to hear a few noises escape. They weren’t words by any means, and they came out so soft Crowley would be surprised if any creature would be able to hear him, but it was better than being completely soundless. If only for his own peace of mind. Apparently, the flies had removed the vocal cords he had as a serpent and hadn’t had access to everything he’d have as a human.</p><p>“Anathema,” Newt said quietly, fluttering down to the opposite knee. Crowley shifted and bent them so they could be a little closer to his face. “Anathema, I don’t think he can talk.”</p><p>He nodded, feeling his face do something in his excitement. He didn’t know quite what it was, but it changed too quickly anyway. And then it changed again, the unusual sensation of facial expressions captivating him for a few seconds before he heard Anathema say, “Is his face broken?”</p><p>He hoped the way his lips twisted displayed his irritation properly, brows drawing down. “Ooh, scary,” she teased and his eyes rolled.</p><p>Wait, his <em>eyes</em>! They kept doing something odd. The world kept going dark for very brief flashes every few seconds. Like something kept covering them. With a gasp, he lifted his hands and promptly jabbed his fingers into his eyes in his excitement over actually having eyelids. And then he got to experience the world in complete darkness for the first time ever, hands covering his eyes and eyelids squeezed down because, okay, human eyes were apparently sensitive as all fucking Hell.</p><p>Eventually, the pain receded and his hands fell away. So much for that. </p><p>“What are these?” Newt wondered, shaking him out of his disappointment. Eyelids, thus far, were less exciting than he’d hoped. He looked over to see the circles with sticks, frowning at them when Newt and Anathema each picked up a stick in their beaks and hopped over. Crowley reached out and plucked them up, confused by them for a moment. He’d seen humans wearing contraptions like this before, but the glass was normally clear. These were tinted darkly, but Beelzebub had said he’d need them. He didn’t know why, but he pushed them over his eyes anyway and huffed out a breath.</p><p><em>Wait</em>. </p><p>He huffed out another and realised he could see it. He pushed the glasses up and huffed yet again, a little puff of white escaping from his mouth. He huffed a fourth time, fascinated by the way it streamed, and was equally fascinated by the way his body was shaking. He knew what being cold was, obviously, but he was used to his body moving <em>less</em> when chilled. Not more. The two quails scattered when he waved his new hands at them, deciding that he’d better stand up.</p><p>Crowley pushed his heels down and did nothing more than dig them into the dirt. His bottom left the ground for roughly a second. Hm. Okay. He’d seen humans stand before. He could do this. Hands were a part of it, weren’t they? So he pushed the heels of his palms into the dirt and even less happened. His arms were too short to make his legs straighten. Carefully, feeling his brows drawing together - He got distracted by that sensation immediately, a hand reaching up and brushing over the two strips of hair above his eyes and feeling the wrinkle between them. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Anathema interrupted and he glared at her.</p><p>
  <em>You try getting a new body and learning it without any instructions.</em>
</p><p>He couldn’t say that, obviously, but his new, much shorter throat worked out all manner of senseless noises. He let them fade and focused on the task at hand once more. Hands and feet dug into the dirt, but all he managed to do was push himself into a strange arc. He dropped back down, lips twisting into something new. He felt pensive, so it was likely something like that. He hoped. How had he never noticed how much human faces <em>moved</em>?</p><p>He rolled onto his front to try from that angle. He was more used to movements this way anyway. Vulnerable belly down - clearly something snakes and humans had in common. Pushing with just his hands seemed to actually get him somewhere this time, and he shuffled a bit to get his knees under him. Right. Excellent so far. This wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as from the other direction, so it was clearly the better way to go. </p><p>Carefully, one leg at a time, Crowley stretched out and planted his feet, pushed, and-</p><p>He fell. Right back into the dirt. Nearly silent gasps fell as pain radiated from the center of his face, body very instinctively moving to sit up and hands covering his nose. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Anathema twittered her laughter, earning herself a glare that did nothing to deter her at all. “Maybe you’re thinking too hard?” Newt offered, at least trying to be helpful. “Deer wobble when they first stand up too.”</p><p><em>Baby deer!</em> “Mngh,” he managed, wrinkling his nose testingly and relieved that the touch of pain seemed to be gone. He let his hands fall away and tried to push himself up three more times before giving up and crawling to the nearest tree. The bark was rough against his palms, but he gripped it anyway and used it to pull himself up onto very unsteady legs. The shaking of his body was even worse now, cold like prickling needles. This, clearly, was why humans used clothes.</p><p>The quails landed on his shoulders. “Not bad,” Anathema praised. “You can’t walk holding this tree, though.”</p><p><em>Sod off</em>. Lips twisted into something that felt grumpy, Crowley lifted one leg far, <em>far</em> too high in an effort to take a step and ended up right back on his bottom in the dirt. He flopped onto his back and glared skyward, inarticulate sounds disguising a few very creative curses aimed at Beelzebub and the fae realm in general. They could have at <em>least</em> given him a few pointers.</p><p>“When,” Anathema interrupted, landing on his mouth, “have you <em>ever</em> seen a human or anything with legs do that?”</p><p>His shoulders moved, a restless up and down motion that seemed to convey exactly what he wanted. She poked his nose with a talon. “Try again, or you’re going to freeze to death.”</p><p>Right, yes. Humans could do that. He hadn’t seen it himself, but he’d heard other fae talk about it before. They could die in all kinds of ways. He rolled back over and used the tree again to get to his feet. “Small steps,” Anathema instructed, she and Newt landing on his shoulders again. “Just shuffle your feet if you have to.”</p><p>It didn’t particularly feel pleasant to do that, toes poking at leaves and sticks. So he tried the smaller steps instead and those seemed to work out okay. His knees wobbled quite a bit, so it was more of a stagger than a walk, but he made it to the next tree without falling flat on his behind. Then it was onto the next tree and the next and so on.</p><p>By the time the apple trees came into view, his teeth were chattering but he nearly had walking down. His hips probably moved a little more than they ought, but his legs stayed under him and that was the important bit.</p><p>He pulled himself between the trees, startled by and startling a human woman. She jerked back, lifting a hand to her chest as she gaped at him. Her eyes travelled over his slender frame, pausing a few places. Her lips quirked, an eyebrow arched, and Crowley got the most peculiar urge to cover the odd dangly bit between his legs.</p><p>“Bit chilly, isn’t it, dear?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Kind Prince</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Still healing from his injuries, Prince Aziraphale gets quite the cast of visitors.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to my betas, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface">SkimmingTheSurface</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona">ladydragona</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24">freyjawriter24</a></p><p>Also big thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude">Faye</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenrislorsrai/pseuds/fenrislorsrai">Fenris</a> for Brainstorming with me in the GO-Events server when I couldn't think of what to name this realm. We'll get into the meanings behind everything eventually 💖</p><p>Also, sorry about Shadwell being... Shadwell.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale hadn’t <em>actually</em> expected any sympathy. No, his family had always been rather unemotional. Cold, even, as cold as the white, white walls of Castle Spearca. He’d studied Latin extensively, so personally didn’t think their pristine home really suited the moniker. But he was hardly one to speak up about such things. The Queen had named it the day she’d arrived with her second husband. A summer home had become permanent and, with it, had come all the headaches which came with transporting an entire capitol city. </p><p>The Village of Eden should have been booming by now and, compared to how it may have been, it was. Compared to the tales his siblings - <em>half</em>-siblings, a voice not unlike Gabriel’s growled in his ear - told about the previous capitol, this quaint town with its single gate and its apple trees on the edge of an enchanted forest may as well have been pure squalor.</p><p>If only they’d go outside the ridiculous palace grounds once in a while and actually <em>speak</em> to the people. Mirari, their kingdom, had so much to give and the people were so very intriguing, but his half-siblings weren’t at all interested. They never did anything but sit in their castle and hold meetings and count their coins and- and-</p><p>Phooey.</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes, heaving a heavy sigh. He hadn’t expected sympathy, but he would’ve at least appreciated a good book. Or more than one cup of tea for a pitiful breakfast. Two boiled eggs and two dry slices of bread hardly constituted the <em>hearty meals</em> the healer had suggested. Leave it to Gabriel to instruct the kitchens to give him a pittance. He’d been on him to lose weight most of his life, but his body leaned quite naturally towards softer curves and rounded cheeks. Perhaps with some sort of strict dietary and physically demanding regime, he could have been trim and quite fit, but would he be happy?</p><p>No, most certainly not.</p><p>He was positive he’d be quite miserable subsisting on such bland meals and suffering exertions more strenuous than his sword fighting. He did like that. Not the actual idea of going into battle, but he quite enjoyed the strategy of it. The game. He smiled too much during lessons according to the strict tutors he’d suffered in his youth, but he’d explained that the thought of defending his homelands made him so cheerful that to do anything less than smile would be unnatural. Not breaking the more pointless rules, no, but circumnavigating them. </p><p>It was hardly Aziraphale’s fault that so many rules were written so broadly as to be, ah, uniquely interpreted. </p><p>His family was less accepting of such things than any tutor, though. Sighing, Aziraphale closed his eyes and wished again for a book. Or at least some kind company. The month away from home had been filled with tension and peace talks - peace talks! - and politics weren’t necessarily the youngest prince’s strong suit. He supposed he didn’t have the same ability of doublespeak as Gabriel or Michael.</p><p>Michael. Aziraphale grimaced. As the eldest child, they should rightly be acting as monarch in Gabriel’s stead, but they had other obligations. They ran the castle with a tight fist and most certainly had their fingers in multiple pies behind the scenes, but Gabriel was the face of the family. He had the title and, unfortunately, was all the more insufferable for it.</p><p>Oh, but that wasn’t fair. Aziraphale just wasn’t used to them any longer, that was all. He’d been very young when he’d been sent off. His father had died and their mother had... Well, he didn’t know. He didn’t like to dwell on the reasons for his education, but he appreciated the benefits very much. He was well-read and happy. He was happy.</p><p>He was <em>happy</em>.</p><p>If he repeated it enough times, it would come true.</p><p>Twin twitters reached his ears and he turned his head towards his window. “Oh,” he said quietly, watching the tiny little birds twirl about. The colourful one unfortunately smacked right into the glass and landed on the ledge. The other landed gracefully beside him, and Aziraphale pushed himself out of bed. It took some effort. He’d been told it was a miracle his leg hadn’t been broken, but it still felt stiff and was bruised. His entire left side was one long bruise, actually, and Aziraphale very much did not enjoy it.</p><p>He carefully limped to the window and unlatched it. “Hello,” he greeted, the brown bird zipping off the ledge as if he’d sworn at her. And certainly it was a her. He knew what button quails looked like and the blue and red one with charming little brown spots speckled down his back was the male variant. He gently cradled the dazed creature in one palm and limped back to bed. Very gingerly, bird cradled to his chest, he got himself laid back down and propped his leg back up on the stack of pillows.</p><p>“There we are. I suppose that’s better,” he murmured, gently stroking the top of the feathered creature’s head. The female flew in and settled on Aziraphale’s nightstand, head bobbing from Aziraphale’s face to the bird in his hand. “My, our little Eden is filled with particularly bright creatures, isn’t it? The ducks, my little snake friend, and now you. I doubt my family would believe me if I told them about any of you,” he said quietly, the male shaking out his feathers and chirping rather cheerfully for something which had just knocked its head. “That’s it. You’re alright, you little thing. Just took a bit of a bump.”</p><p>He'd know all about that, having taken quite a spectacular one himself. Though everyone - half-siblings and healer alike - had told him his memories of said bump were clearly skewed. Aziraphale didn't like thinking his mind was somehow betraying him, sighing quietly as the bird gently rubbed its head against his thumb. Unusual creatures from an enchanted forest, he thought with a small smile. </p><p>“Don't thank me. I hardly did a thing,” he murmured. “If I had my way, the window would've been open from the start anyway despite the cold. It's a lovely day.”</p><p>Crisp, blue skies and not a cloud to be seen. Were it a titch warmer and he in quite a bit less pain, he'd rather like to step outside. He had been looking forward to coming home and spending some time in the garden. Maybe peek into the careful hole he'd dug for the little snake to see if he couldn't spot a touch of black and red. Silly. He was a silly, fanciful man and that was all there was to it. </p><p>Except... </p><p>“Do you know that they believe I may have gone a bit spare?” he asked quietly, ignoring the fact that he was talking to birds. After all, they were very intently listening to him. “Hit my head in the crash, I suppose. Which I certainly did - I recall it quite clearly. All of it, I recall quite clearly. There was a... A very loud sound, which startled the horses. Like a clap of thunder, but coming from the side of the road. The poor things just... Lost their heads, I'm afraid, and I was thrown from the seat when the carriage overturned. I didn't know they could do that, exactly. Our carriages are quite finely made, you understand. Even mine.”</p><p>Aziraphale looked down, thumb stroking along the colourful bird's breast. He seemed to preen under the attention, looking towards his companion. Her feathers ruffled, and she hopped closer to the prince's bed. “Gosh,” he breathed, holding out a hand for her. She leapt right into it and let Aziraphale adjust a pillow over his lap for the two button quails to settle on. He pet them like cats, fascinated by shifting feathers and smiling at their pleased chirps. He'd always been told that the Village of Eden was something special - or something to be wary of - but his memories had been shaky. Nothing in his memories could account for this, though. Nothing at all. </p><p>“Do you want to know the truly odd thing? They think I'm going spare without me even telling them the wildest truth.” He looked around as if someone besides button quails may be listening, lowering his voice and leaning down a touch. Not too far, wary of his wounds, but far enough. “A man rescued me with magic. I did tell them he existed, of course. I know he did, you understand. I spoke to him. But the magic he used...”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed, leaning back. “It's only that such things were outlawed years ago.” He lifted a hand to the back of his head, where he could've sworn he'd hit that rock by the roadside, and yet there was hardly a bump. His leg, too, he remembered being broken and yet the bone had stitched back together under the most peculiar weight. The amount of blood on the road should have meant certain death for him, according to all that he'd heard about the rescue. “Do you suppose that's why he didn't tell me his name? Why else would he say he was no one? I would think a man so willing to rescue royalty would press his advantage. Perhaps he's shy about his lisp...”</p><p>He'd found the little hiss there, right at the end of their interaction, to be charming. In the moment, he'd been a bit... addled. But with a full two days of recuperation and time to reminisce over every single detail of their brief encounter, he'd done little else. How fascinating it had been. </p><p>“He called me angel,” he murmured, more to himself than the birds. “No one's ever called me that before. I wonder if he didn't realise I'm a prince? I did get sent away rather abruptly, after all, and I hadn't been here terribly long. And if he <em>is</em> a wielder of magic as I suspect,” how else would he have redressed him so instantaneously or healed him so effortlessly? “he would have no idea what mine or others' reactions would be to his abilities. Yes?” The feathers on his tiny charges shifted. “Yes, good.”</p><p>Aziraphale turned his gaze out the window, hum soft. “I do hope I can speak with him again. I'd very much like to thank him. I fear I could have ended up quite like my poor driver had he not come to my aid.” No one had ever done that before either. He'd been as much on his own at his boarding school as he was in his own family home, it seemed, always just a little out of place. </p><p>Too bookish and too quiet yet also too opinionated and too verbose about those opinions. He'd never gotten in trouble at school, no, as any rebellion was kept neat and tidy and well within the rules as printed. He'd never found anyone who could respect the push and pull inherent in his personality and, at times, wondered if he ever would. </p><p>Sighing, Aziraphale started to lay back when his door was suddenly slammed open. “Yer Highness,” the man greeted. A member of the guard stepped his dirty boots into Aziraphale’s chambers and he had to bite back a heaving sigh.</p><p>He was a harmless old fool, really, but Aziraphale would've preferred if he hadn't been named as his adviser. To, ah, toughen him up, as Gabriel had put it. “You know, Aziraphale, some extra training might help you lose the gut.” Aziraphale skipped those extra lessons more often than not and didn't particularly think Shadwell minded either. Though his days of action were behind him, it was clear he would prefer to be leading an offensive movement against practitioners of witchcraft and other magics than helping a prince swordfight. Aziraphale thought the banishments were ridiculous, but his opinion on the matter had not been sought as he'd been quite young and very much not in Eden when his eldest brother had made the decree. The effects still reverberated, clearly, else he wouldn't have needed to be away on peace talks for a month. Discussing the benefits of things which he did not himself believe. </p><p>At times, being royalty was exhausting. </p><p>“Sergeant Shadwell. To what do I owe the pleasure?” </p><p>“Ye've visitors.”</p><p>No, no. It was all the time. Being royalty was exhausting all the time. “Sergeant, I'm hardly amenable to visitors at this time.” Human ones anyway. The two birds on his pillow seemed hardly affected by the sudden additional presence, so Aziraphale hoped they'd stay once he'd gone again. </p><p>“It's the Jezebel from-” Blue eyes went icy, and even Shadwell knew to clear his throat and adjust that line. “The <em>Lady</em> Marjorie Potts. She's picked up some stranger.”</p><p>“A stranger?” Ms. Potts, or Tracy as she preferred, lived outside of Eden, tucked into a tiny village only a few days away by carriage. She was one of the few people Aziraphale remembered from childhood, the queen a frequent visitor to the outlying villages, and the unusual older girl had told him ghost stories in the back of her own mother's shop. They were good memories and they'd exchanged several letters whilst he'd been away for schooling. Aziraphale had been thrilled when she'd come to see him his first day back home, and was pleased that she'd come see him now. Although, “Does this stranger have a name?” </p><p>“Hasn't said a word. Suspicious, that's what 'e is. Dinnae even tell me how many nipples 'e had.”</p><p>“Oh, Mr. S, no more than the usual two. I can promise you that.” The woman squeezed by him, ignoring Shadwell’s spluttering. “Little Aziraphale, luv, how are you? You do look a fright.”</p><p>She bustled over, paused when she noticed the two button quails, but only earned more of Aziraphale’s affections when she didn't comment. She simply threw open his armoire and began pulling out a simple enough outfit amongst the finery he was supposed to wear. As much as he did love a good silk and some lace, the comfort she laid out on his favourite bedroom armchair was much more preferred. </p><p>“I was involved in an unfortunate incident two days prior, Tracy. I'd expect to look a fright.” Aziraphale very carefully settled the pillow and the two little birds to the side, fascinated when they only continued to watch the proceedings with interest. They reminded him of the clever serpent he'd spent so much time with before his, er, peace tour. “What's this about a stranger?” </p><p>“Oh-” </p><p>“Yer Highness, ye shoulnae have some- some <em>scarlet woman</em>-” </p><p>“Mr. Shadwell!” Tracy gasped, returning to and playfully patting his arm, all teasing fondness over the insults. Aziraphale chose to ignore the red spreading up Shadwell’s neck, peering over the tops of his shabby uniform collar. “Are you trying to suggest that I have <em>designs</em> on our youngest prince?” </p><p>Shadwell scoffed, but Aziraphale lifted a hand to stay any further protests. “Sergeant, I would prefer it if you wouldn't insult my guests. Ms. Potts is a dear friend, as I've told you.” Several times. Several times to everyone. Not being heard could truly be so tiring. “If you could tell me what this is all about?” </p><p>“Well...” She hummed, tapping a finger to her chin. “I think I'd best explain in front of the poor man. I'd say he'll be able to fill in the gaps, but...”</p><p>Aziraphale’s brows drew together, curiosity piqued. “Is he alright?” </p><p>“I'm not entirely sure, dear. That's why I thought you'd be the best bet.”</p><p>“Ye cannae use the royal family as yer own personal-” </p><p>“I'll be out in one moment,” Aziraphale interrupted. It was rude and he felt terrible about it, but it silenced Shadwell and left Tracy beaming brightly. She ushered him out, both of them gasping when the button quails suddenly flapped their wings and sailed out of his chambers. “Gosh!” Aziraphale gasped in turn, flinging the quilt off and easing out of bed while Shadwell hollered about vermin. </p><p>“Oh, Mr. Shadwell,” Tracy scolded, the door shutting smartly behind them. </p><p>Aziraphale dressed as quickly as his injuries would allow, grimacing all the while at the sudden pounding in the back of his head, the deep ache in one leg. An arm felt like it had a hole in it and had gotten twisted, but no holes and certainly no breaks had been felt by the healer. He was banged up and bruised and he'd been terribly bloody, but he was clean and going to be alright. </p><p>Still, two days after the fact, it took longer than he wanted and he was still neatly tying his tartan cravat as he limped down the short hall to his private study. It was detached from his bedchambers by such a short distance as to nearly be inconsequential, but it had seating for guests and his books. It was also where his lantern spent much of its time as Aziraphale was loath to part with the written word just because of something so silly as the sun going down. It was likely why his vision was already going, his spectacles usually left on the back of whatever book he happened to set aside.</p><p>Not that he’d been able to read anything the night before. Or even the night before that. Perhaps now that he was out of bed, he’d select something to take with him to bed this night. It was likely to be another lonely one, after all. He stepped into his study, thoughts of books and lonely nights slipping away in quiet stun. Shadwell had his bulk tipped towards a man in his favourite study armchair. And, yes, this man was a stranger.</p><p>Dark auburn curls rained upon his shoulders in such a state Aziraphale was certain the poor thing had never met with a proper brush, but the colour was so rich and vibrant it drew his gaze. The dark sunglasses were a peculiarity, covering whatever shade his eyes may be, and his nose hooked just a little at the end. Charmingly so. His mouth, though, was twisted into quite the scowl, a plush bottom lip jutted out as if he was also trying to pout. The clothes he wore were black and ill-fitting, coat too long over his hands and trousers which seemed too wide for his legs. Like a child in his father’s clothes.</p><p>The birds, Aziraphale noted, were on his shoulders, hidden in tangled curls. Only tiny beaks peeked out and that, he realised when sound remembered how to be heard, was what Shadwell was raging about. “-vermin out of-”</p><p>“Sergeant,” Aziraphale cut in, wincing. To interrupt twice in a matter of minutes was rather uncouth, but things were obviously terribly awry. </p><p>Shadwell staggered back, taking several steps away from this scowling stranger. “Yer Highness,” he said with a smidgen of respect, then gestured at the strange man. “Rise when royalty enters a room, ye vagabond.”</p><p>The pouting scowl went through quite a few changes before settling on a thin line of determination, and Aziraphale watched him push his hands against the arms of the chair and pitch himself up, only to go stumbling right into Shadwell like a drunk. “Ach!” the sergeant protested, pushing him back and sending him reeling, arms spinning and the birds flapping in circles around his head until Tracy caught him by the arm, one of her own slipping around his waist.</p><p>“Now there’s a love,” she cooed, guiding him right back into the chair. The birds, Aziraphale noted, returned to the relative safety of his shoulders. He also noted that the stranger smiled weakly at Tracy, but didn’t thank her. He had yet to so much as utter a single word or sound, even when he’d been pushed. Aziraphale would have expected at least a grunt. “You just sit there now. You’ve had quite the day.”</p><p>“Now, Jezebel-”</p><p>“Sergeant Shadwell,” and Aziraphale was going to have to pray for forgiveness at this rate; it was quite thoroughly unbecoming, “could you do us the favour of passing a message along to a servant from the kitchens? Be sure to make them aware that I have guests, so I expect proper sustenance befitting a teatime for four.”</p><p>“Best make it for five, dear. Don’t think the poor thing’s eaten in days.” The “poor thing” cocked his head a smidge as if considering that and he gave a small nod in her direction before swiveling his gaze towards Aziraphale. For some reason, he wanted to stretch out a hand and pet him.</p><p>Good Heavens, just how hard had he hit his head?</p><p>“Sergeant, please. Tell them it’s for five and that they had best be quick about it.” When he hesitated, Aziraphale straightened his shoulders. “I hardly need my virtue protected here, nor do I need an angry guard. I do, however, require a proper meal for the two of us and my guests.”</p><p>Shadwell still quibbled a bit, torn between his duties, but he settled for pointing at Tracy and this stranger. “Ye had best watch yerselves,” he warned and stomped out.</p><p>Aziraphale waited until the door slammed - unnecessarily hard, of course - before turning his attention to his guests. “So sorry. The sergeant truly does mean well, but I believe he forgets that not everything in the world is a danger which needs overcoming.” He smiled apologetically, and watched the stranger positively light up. Even unable to see his eyes, his face was impossibly expressive. As if he’d never learned how to be subtle about his emotions, they ran rampant over every twitch and wrinkle. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only ended up smiling like the sunset peeking through clouds at the end of a rainy day. <em>Gosh</em>.</p><p>The silence stretched for another few seconds, Aziraphale’s brows slowly drawing together when Tracy finally sighed. “He can’t talk, dear. He’s been making quite the effort the whole ride through town, but I’m afraid I can’t get anything out of him but little... Well, I suppose they’re like little grunts.” He tipped his head up, offense written on his face, and Tracy patted his cheek. “None of that now, dear. It’s what they are.”</p><p>“Goodness,” Aziraphale murmured, crossing to them to sink down in an armchair across from the apparent mute. The button quails seemed more comfortable, so they scooted further out and nestled themselves on the stranger’s shoulders. Well, one did. The colourful lad slipped down and landed in his lap.</p><p>He shook with silent laughter, breaths puffing in exuberant little gasps that made Aziraphale smile. The smile warmed when he righted the clumsy bird and settled him on a knee. “I should’ve told you when I saw them on your pillow, Aziraphale, but these two little dears seem to belong to this young man. I think they’re the only things he has left.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s smile slipped off his face. “Oh?”</p><p>“I’m afraid so. Why, when I stumbled across him, he was naked as the day he was born. He’s lucky I had Mr. Omerod’s new clothes in my pack.”</p><p>“Mr. Omerod,” Aziraphale echoed with not a small bit of horror. Injured or not, he’d still been officially appraised of all births (none) and deaths (one) in Eden during his absence. “His <em>burial</em> attire?”</p><p>“Oh, now, I don’t think he’ll mind. Mrs. Omerod might, but we’ll just keep that between us.”</p><p>“Oh, good Lord.”</p><p>“Don’t you worry about a thing. I made two options just in case she wanted a touch of colour for him, but I thought this one here would look quite dashing in a spot of black.” She tipped her head to the side, amused as she took her gaze over the silent stranger. “Perhaps if it fit him a touch better...”</p><p>Aziraphale could admit that, yes, he did look fine in the dark tones. But the discovery of the original intentions of these clothes cast a sudden dark light over his musings of a child in their parents’ clothes. Heavens above. But if it was all she’d had on her, he was proud of her for offering assistance to a stranger. One who had very obviously been robbed and left to freeze to death in the chill of winter. There could be no other explanation for such a bizarre discovery.</p><p>He shifted his gaze back to the redhead, fascinated to find a small smile aimed solely on him. It was as if Tracy wasn’t there at all, a thought which caused warmth to fill his cheeks. “I hope you weren’t out in the cold long?”</p><p>He shook his head, curls bouncing in his eagerness, and Aziraphale had to stifle a giggle to avoid offending the man. “Well, that’s something. And these two adorable creatures belong to you?” He bit his lip, brow furrowing above his sunglasses, but he lifted a hand to wiggle it in a so-so sort of gesture. “Ah. They don’t <em>belong </em>to anyone, do they? But they are your friends?” He nodded as eagerly as he’d shaken his head no, satisfying Aziraphale. “Wonderful. They are rather charming things. I’m afraid the colourful one flew right into my window, but he doesn’t seem any worse for the wear.”</p><p>That absurd, silent laugh shook his lean frame again and the button quail waved his blue-feathered wings in silent protest. Such clever creatures, and such gentle hands, he caught himself thinking, gaze following a soft stroke the man’s long fingers took down the bird’s back.</p><p>Tracy tsked, reminding the prince she was even there. “They flew off just as I called to Mr. Shadwell. I knew the dear man would bring us straight up.” She leaned forward, reaching for and clasping her hands around one of Aziraphale’s, searching his gaze. “Now I told our new friend you’d been in an accident and I noticed you’ve still got quite the limp. How are you feeling, dear? Really.”</p><p>Aziraphale flicked his gaze to their “new friend,” unsure if he was surprised to find his expression so intent on him or not. “Ah... Well, I’ve got a few scrapes and bruises. Some soreness in my leg and my arm. All along my left side, actually. I think I must’ve, ah, landed on it?” Or something had landed on him. He truly couldn’t recall the exact moments of the crash, only the sudden <em>bang</em> he was told he’d imagined and the terrified whinny of the horses. The way they’d reared up and... Hm. Well. “I think, all things considered, I’m far better than I could be. There was-” He broke off, casting the stranger another glance.</p><p>“There was what, dear?”</p><p>“Well... Perhaps we should discuss the particulars later. I’m afraid they’re a bit... unbelievable.”</p><p>“Oh, now, you know how I adore a story with a spot of unbelievability!” she gushed, releasing him to lean back in her seat and flutter her fingers. “I wouldn’t worry about this one. He’s as sweet as they come, he is.”</p><p>He looked rather scandalised at that, the quail on his shoulder chirping in a way that almost sounded like a laugh. He simply pushed her and she landed quite gracefully on his lap, hopping onto his other knee as if such playful things happened often. Aziraphale hummed to himself. <em>Sweet</em>, he would reserve judgment on. He seemed a bit on the innocent side of things, actually, but first impressions weren’t always accurate ones.</p><p>“Be that as it may, both the healer and my siblings seem to believe I’ve gone a bit spare in the accident. They say I must have crawled across the street to be found by the boulder and... hallucinated someone.”</p><p>Tracy leaned forward, capturing Aziraphale’s attention from long fingers when they suddenly began flexing over slender thighs. “Hallucinated someone?” she echoed.</p><p>“Yes. A... a rescuer, of sorts. I don’t <em>entirely</em> know what happened, but I know I awakened as someone was there. Right behind me, reassuring me that I would be alright.” His gaze went misty, a ripple of greys and blues. “He had a slight lisp, but I thought it was, er, charming.” Adorable, even, in his reflection of the moment. “In any case, he was a very decent fellow to stay with me until I’d awakened. I wish he had stayed longer so I could properly thank him.” And to ask him about his magic use, but he wouldn't tell anyone that, even Tracy. </p><p>“Well, how much thanks does he need for only staying until you’d woken up?”</p><p>“Oh, Tracy, he didn’t go far. I know it. He watched me until villagers arrived.” He wiped his palms against his thighs in an old nervous gesture, smiling apologetically at first Tracy and then at the very intensely staring man. But he was smiling too, something soft and sweet that made Aziraphale’s chest feel unbearably warm. Goodness, he’d only just met this man. “Ah. Terribly sorry. I know that sounds like quite the flight of fancy. I assure you I’m usually quite practical.”</p><p>He lurched forward suddenly, Aziraphale gasping when his hand was caught. The stranger's skin was several degrees chillier than Aziraphale’s, though he chalked that up to his having been outside for so long so recently. It was astoundingly smooth, as well, no callouses to be felt. Not the hands of a beggar or someone accustomed to manual labour. So what did this man do when not wandering out in the cold?</p><p>Aziraphale knew he couldn’t possibly be from a wealthy family. Any member of the nobility would know better than to touch him, to reach out and grab like a dear friend when he was hardly even an acquaintance. He didn’t even know the man’s <em>name</em>. Had he done this to any other member of the family, he would’ve been smacked at the least and arrested at the most. But Aziraphale wasn’t just anyone in his family, recognising that the touch was meant to soothe, to quiet his apologies. “I take it I’m forgiven?” he guessed, smiling at the enthusiastic nodding. </p><p>They jostled his sunglasses a little, but the man pushed them back up his nose with a little wrinkle. As if he didn't quite know how to handle that sensation. Aziraphale gently squeezed his hand, getting his attention back. “I'm very glad. I assume you don't have a place to stay tonight?” He shook his head. “No, of course not. Well, I can't just throw you out into the cold, can I? I'll ensure that you have a room prepared.”</p><p>He would just have to deal with his family. It would be fine. He was perfectly within his rights to have a guest stay in his small section of the castle. But would they see this mute commoner as a <em>guest</em>? Time would tell. Probably no time at all. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Named Snek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley needs a human name, and Aziraphale is happy to give guessing a go. Tracy's happy to help, and Shadwell... Well, he's around.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to my betas, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface">SkimmingTheSurface</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona">ladydragona</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24">freyjawriter24</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley could hardly believe how much he’d managed to accomplish on his human things to-do list in such a short time. He'd succeeded in getting in front of Aziraphale, smiled at him, and was even now touching his hand. It was a successful saunter into humanity so far, the word borrowed from Tracy. <em>“Not everyday you see a handsome bloke sauntering out of the forest.”</em></p><p>She'd said it after pushing him and clothes behind a tree, tutting at him all the while and, even if he could talk, he highly doubted he would've been able to get a word in edgeways. Especially when he’d needed help with the buttons. She'd shown him two and he'd done up the rest, new fingers fumbling just a bit. He probably should've been embarrassed, but she was kind and bubbly and understanding. <em>“You must be used to wearing ties instead of proper clothes with buttons.”</em> </p><p>Used to scales, actually, but the rest was right. He hadn't been dismissed by her afterwards, though. She'd hooked a firm arm around one of his and tugged him free of the forest and towards her carriage, his stumbling legs hardly a deterrent for her. Picking a few apples, she'd said, to bring to Prince Aziraphale before carrying on with her day, but he probably wouldn't mind being brought a man instead. </p><p>Crowley wasn't nearly foolish enough to dismiss that sort of luck, so into her carriage he'd gone. It only occurred to him that she'd been picking apples off trees which didn't bear fruit in the winter when they'd rattled through the royal gates. What had she really been doing? </p><p>There had been no asking her, unfortunately, but Aziraphale seemed to like her and he did remember Ms. Potts from some of Aziraphale’s ramblings to him before he'd left on that peace tour. He just hadn't realised that <em>Ms. Potts</em> and <em>Madame Tracy</em>, as she'd introduced herself to him, were the same person. The only friend he'd ever heard Aziraphale mention, though her home was several days away and her visits unfortunately infrequent as a result. </p><p>The look Anathema kept sending him was a little too knowing for comfort. In all his claims that Aziraphale needed a friend, he'd never mentioned the one he already had. His glares in response did nothing but increase her amusement. It was so annoying to be unable to hiss at her, not entirely sure how that would sound with a human mouth or if he could even make such a sound. What little he did manage was soft and weak and nonsensical. </p><p>So he ignored her and turned his attention back to the hand still in his. Aziraphale hadn't pulled away from him yet, even though he'd asked Tracy how she'd been since they'd last seen or written to one another. It let him explore and compare. He was used to these fingers on his scales, the warmth and shape of them familiar and missed. Having them against skin was a different sensation, and Crowley was admittedly fascinated by all the differences of his human body versus the prince’s. Aziraphale’s soft hands had shorter fingers, wider. His warm palm was lined, Crowley cupping his hand and curiously taking his own longer, thinner fingers over the narrow indents. </p><p>“Palm reading?” Aziraphale wondered, drawing his attention upwards. He didn't really like the glasses, the way they dimmed Aziraphale’s colours, so he adjusted them with a minor frision of magic. They stayed dark because he'd been given them for a reason and even he wasn’t stubborn enough to ignore that, but they no longer impeded his vision. </p><p>Those bright blue eyes were twinkling away, Crowley’s mouth curving as the colours cleared. He didn't know what his own smile looked like, but Aziraphale seemed to approve. He wanted to give him an answer, ask what palm reading was, but only managed, “Ngk.”</p><p>Both of his hands were wrapped around Aziraphale’s one, but he didn't pull away. Not until the door swung open again and Shadwell returned. Crowley already wasn't fond of the blustering man, but the way Aziraphale slipped his hand away and folded them neatly in his lap was another good reason to dislike him. Was he not allowed to touch? Maybe it was one of the dozens of rules he'd ignored when Shadwell had been leading them through the castle, telling them in no uncertain terms that Prince Aziraphale was not going to see them but if he did, there were certain things they were not supposed to do. </p><p>Aziraphale, Crowley knew, didn't strictly care about what was <em>supposed </em>to be done just so long as there weren't any strict rules in the way. Or he just didn’t want to be scolded by the gruff man when the situation was already so odd.</p><p>“Sergeant,” Aziraphale greeted, “I assume you were successful?”</p><p>“Aye, Yer Highness. The kitchens’ll be sendin’ someone along.”</p><p>“Excellent. Thank you. Go fetch one of the maids, would you?” Shadwell made quite the face at that, and Aziraphale’s brows lifted. “Do you have an objection, sergeant?”</p><p>He grumbled something Crowley certainly heard, but Aziraphale either didn’t or was just that forgiving for he said nothing about the sharp words. “No, Yer Highness. I’ll find someone.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>He left again and Crowley wasted no time in reaching out to steal Aziraphale’s hand again, smiling when he laughed. “You certainly are affectionate, mister... ah. Hm. So sorry, I don’t know your name. Tracy?”</p><p>“I didn’t have time to guess, luv.”</p><p>“That’s alright. We certainly have time now.”</p><p>He turned his smile back on Crowley, whose mind was reeling. Names. Right. He certainly wasn’t going to let him know it was Crowley, not when that information would get across the entire castle and who knew where from there? But he really didn’t want to be called Crawly either. Bit too squirming-at-your-feetish and he wasn’t currently at feet-level. </p><p>“Ngk,” he breathed, earning a squeeze of his hand. Then Aziraphale surprised him by wrapping the second around his one. Crowley stared down at them, intrigued. His hands were so very warm and they were <em>holding </em>his own. Crowley liked them, actually. He liked them on his own.</p><p>“I don’t suppose you know how to write?”</p><p>Crowley lifted his gaze and shook his head. Reading and writing weren’t exactly high priorities for a fae. At least not in his particular realm. Not like he usually had the limbs needed to hold a book or a quill anyway. </p><p>“I see. Well... I suppose I could guess. I do read quite a bit.” He smiled apologetically and Crowley opened his mouth to tell him it was fine, that his reading habit was endearing, that anyone who said he spent too much time in the library was a wanker, but only soft, senseless sounds came out. Aziraphale’s smile softened. “I don’t suppose you can read?”</p><p>Crowley shook his head again, frustrated by the lack of a voice. Fucking Beelzebub. </p><p>“Alright. Then I’ll begin guessing and you can just squeeze my hand or wave or provide some sort of signal that tells me if I’m correct. Or at least close. How does that sound?”</p><p>“Exhausting,” Tracy put in, laughing when Aziraphale looked her way. “It does, dear.”</p><p>“Well, we’re not going to go around not calling him by name.” Aziraphale sat up a little straighter and Crowley wondered why his cheeks were starting to hurt. Was that just another human thing? Was smiling something <em>difficult</em>? Why were human bodies so bloody weird?</p><p>“Now then,” Aziraphale began, “I suppose we’ll start with As.”</p><p>“Aziraphale.”</p><p>“What?” He looked at Tracy, puzzled, then gasped at her grin. “Stop that! That’s hardly a good guess.”</p><p>“I dunno, I think it’s good to get the obvious ones out of the way first.”</p><p>“I’m going to guess the obvious ones.”</p><p>“Oh? Adam or Brian or Gregory or-” She paused, seeming to take note of the way Aziraphale’s expression had changed. His brows were drawn together, lips downturned. Crowley got the feeling flicking his tongue over Aziraphale’s neck wouldn’t get the usual giggly reaction it normally did, so settled for squeezing his hand again. “Alright,” Tracy sighed, waving a hand. “Give it a go, then. It’ll be nice not to think of him as ‘tall, dark, and quiet.’”</p><p>“I believe the phrase is tall, dark, and handsome.”</p><p>“Been reading those sorts of books again, luv?”</p><p>Crowley had absolutely no idea what sorts of books she might’ve been referring to, but he did like the way Aziraphale flushed scarlet. They must be some very interesting books. “<em>No</em>,” Aziraphale denied. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, in fact.”</p><p>“You can’t lie to me, luv. I’ve known you far too long. I know you like yourself a good ro-”</p><p>“<em>Adam</em>!” Aziraphale interrupted, gaze swiveling to Crowley. Wide eyes were suddenly hazel, surprising him. “Is Adam close, dear fellow?”</p><p>On his knee, Anathema looked up and chirped questioningly. Crowley shook his head at her, then at Aziraphale.</p><p>“Hm. Well, are Brian or Gregory clo-” Aziraphale laughed, breaking off when Crowley felt his face do something that hopefully conveyed just what he thought of being called either of those things. “No, I suppose not. Was Adam closer than those two?”</p><p>Crowley shrugged. He hadn’t thought about names, really. Something he likely should’ve done before slithering into the densest parts of the woods. If Aziraphale said something that didn’t sound awful, he’d be willing to go along with it until he was back to his serpentine shape. When he had his voice back, this would be much easier. </p><p>Aziraphale hummed, thumb rubbing against the back of Crowley’s hand almost absently. He looked down to watch, fascinated by the gentle sensation. His hands were so soft. He knew that, had known it from the first meeting, but skin was different against skin. It might take a bit of time to get used to that, actually.</p><p>“You know, Adam and Aziraphale both start with the same letter. A.” <em>Oh</em>. Well, he’d go with that then. He nodded encouragingly, pleased when Aziraphale’s smile returned. “Alright. I suppose it doesn’t start with <em>Ad</em>. Hm. Arthur?” Crowley scrunched his nose. Sounded a bit too bland, for his tastes. “Not Arthur, then. Aaron?” He shook his head. Boring.</p><p>“Antonio,” Tracy put in, laughing when they both looked her way. “Just making sure neither of you forget I’m here. A lady’s liable to feel left out.”</p><p>Aziraphale huffed, but his expression was painted in apology. “That isn’t the intention at all, dear lady. You know that, don’t you? I value your input. Of course you can make a few educated guesses.”</p><p>Crowley rather liked the one she’d made already, actually. It wasn’t boring. Had a bit of flair. Perhaps too much, based on Aziraphale’s reaction, but perhaps something close would suit. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand to get his attention again, then lifted his free one to wiggle it in a so-so sort of gesture.</p><p>Aziraphale lit up immediately, eyes bright blue once more. Someone help him, but he’d very happily drown in them. “Similar to Antonio, then? I’m afraid the only thing I can think of is, ah, Anthony.”</p><p>That. He liked the way it sparked in his mind, liked the way it spilled over Aziraphale’s tongue. Liked that it started with the same letter. He wanted to be closer to this prince, have more in common, so nodded eagerly. The brilliant smile he was given made his chest do something funny. Some sort of tightening. Was his chest broken? Fuck, he’d just gotten this body. It couldn’t be <em>broken</em> already.</p><p>“Anthony,” Aziraphale repeated, distracting him from the funny feeling in his chest. “It’s a wonderful name. Thank you, Tracy. That was very helpful.”</p><p>“My pleasure, luv. Now-”</p><p>The door swung open, Shadwell entering anew. This time, Aziraphale didn’t disentangle their hands fast enough and the shout of outrage the man let out made Crowley flinch. Newt flitted back to his shoulder to hide in his hair, but Crowley had to grab Anathema before she zipped over and did something stupid. She’d probably peck him given the chance. Not that Crowley would mind, but it wouldn't be the best impression to make with Aziraphale. </p><p>“Sergeant, really, if you’re going to bellow like that, I won’t allow you to stay for tea.”</p><p>“Stay fer-” He waved a hand, mightily offended. “He's makin' advances! Pro'ly wants to seduce a member of the royal family to do his evil will.”</p><p>Warm blue eyes flickered to ice. The shade was so pale, it was nearly lost in the whites of his eyes. Crowley could hardly look away. “Sergeant, be mindful that you are speaking to a member of said royal family. I will have none of this. He is unable to verbally communicate, so we are accommodating his need. You will not insult him in my presence.”</p><p>Crowley fully expected Shadwell to puff up and snap back. He’d featured in some of Aziraphale’s tales, really. An adviser he hadn’t wanted thrust upon him for insulting reasons and his attitude... Well, Crowley had truly believed the tales of his attitude had been exaggerated. They were not, and there was nothing Aziraphale could actually do to him. Not when his family had insisted and, if Crowley remembered correctly, he’d said something about Shadwell being cast out of the village entirely if Aziraphale didn’t keep him as his adviser.</p><p>He wondered if Shadwell knew that, particularly when he sighed gustily. “Aye, Yer Highness. But if ‘e’s a threat-”</p><p>“He isn’t. Now I’ll hear no more about this.” And then he stunned Crowley by reaching out himself and taking his hand. Behind the dark lenses, he blinked several times. It was an odd sensation, feeling his eyes close in rapid succession - or at all - but the hand didn’t leave. Crowley felt his lips pull into another curve, looked up to find Aziraphale’s had as well.</p><p>Conversation ebbed and flowed, Shadwell’s interjections akin to annoyed grunts each time Tracy made some sort of joke or off-colour comment, and her cooing at these “attempts at attention,” as she’d called them in a whisper before guiding Crowley up to him in the first place. He wasn’t so sure if that was the case, as he just seemed generally unpleasant all around, but after she patted his knee, even he could tell colour raced up his throat. Aziraphale seemed content to relax in his chair, still noticeably favouring his left side even seated. He spoke up occasionally, but seemed perfectly willing to let her talk herself out and fluster Shadwell all she liked in the process.</p><p>He definitely liked the woman, and Anathema and Newt seemed to be on his side regarding her. Asleep on his knees, the pair of them, but on his side. It was an unimaginable relief to have them.</p><p>When a servant entered, pushing a cart laden with a tea set and all manner of tiny foodstuffs, Crowley felt his curiosity pique anew and let Aziraphale tug his hand away. He missed the warmth of it immediately, but watched in quiet fascination as he greeted the girl and asked after her family. She looked stunned that he’d remembered their names, but quickly answered with a shy smile that was warmly returned.</p><p>Prince Aziraphale was not the sort of man the rats would ever have suggested he torment, Crowley was sure. He was good and kind and, well, sweet. He cared about things in a way Crowley was entirely unfamiliar with, but fascinated by.</p><p>As fascinated as he was by the tray of things left following the girl’s careful curtsy. As fascinated as he was by the way Aziraphale said his new name. “Anthony?” He tipped his head to the side. “How do you take your tea? Black,” he held up a finger, “cream,” a second finger, “sugar,” a third, “or both cream and sugar?” A fourth finger was held up, and Crowley wasn’t nearly stupid enough not to understand the system he was attempting, but he stared at the dishes on the tray and jerked his shoulders in uncertainty. “Do you dislike tea?” He jerked his shoulders again, this time adding a little wave of his hand and trying to say he didn’t know.</p><p>“Ngk.”</p><p>“Hm. Well, we’ll try it black to start,” Aziraphale decided, filling two cups with steaming water and adding a tea infuser to each one. “And we’ll add a splash of cream and a cube or two of sugar if you decide you’d like to try that as well.”</p><p>“Catering an awful lot to ‘im, Yer Highness, when ye’re the bloody royal.”</p><p>“Yes, how dreadful of me to make my guests feel welcome.”</p><p>Tracy hooted a laugh, taking a teacup with a dollop of cream. She set it on a small table by her side and plucked up a small sandwich besides. “If I didn’t know any better, Aziraphale, I’d say the poor dear’s been cursed.”</p><p>“Magic’s been outlawed for more’n a decade,” Shadwell spluttered, his teacup filled with almost too much cream and sugar to even be called tea.</p><p>Crowley’s brows rose. Was it? Hm.</p><p>“And if someone’s going about passing along curses, I highly doubt they would be interested in the law.” Aziraphale reached out and touched his hand gently, stealing his attention away. “Have you been cursed, my dear fellow?”</p><p>He didn’t know that he’d call it a curse. He’d asked to be human and had then agreed to the terms, but if it would help explain why he didn’t fully know human things and how Tracy had stumbled upon him, it was an easy excuse. He nodded.</p><p>“Gosh,” Aziraphale murmured, blue eyes shifting somewhere towards indigo in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, my dear. How wretched for you. It’s no wonder Tracy found you in such a state.” Crowley nodded again, earning a gentle pat to his hand. “Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do to manage this. Perhaps even cure you.”</p><p>Oh, no.</p><p>Shadwell choked on his sip of barely-tea. “Ye cannae even <em>suggest</em> such a thing, Yer Highness! A counter-curse is <em>magic</em>. Any witch ye find willin’ to perform any such thing would need to be-”</p><p>“Arrested?” Tracy queried, long lashes fluttering. Crowley found himself wondering once again just what she’d been doing along the forest’s edges before he’d stumbled upon her.</p><p>“Aye! And no witch is gettin’ under <em>my</em> nose!”</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes shifted again, to a lovely hazel, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Tracy, for her part, looked calmly amused. It dawned on Crowley what was being unsaid, and he felt his face pull into an immediate grin that made Aziraphale gasp and flutter at him. “Quite right, Sergeant,” he said quickly. “Anthony, would you like a slice of cake? It appears to be a lovely sponge.”</p><p>Curious, he leaned forward and looked at the round, frosted object he gestured at. Right. He’d seen cakes at bakeries before. He’d never eaten one, though, so nodded and took the small plate and fork Aziraphale handed him a moment later. And then he waited whilst Aziraphale cut himself a slice. From the way Shadwell rolled his eyes each time Aziraphale did anything for himself, Crowley wondered if the young servant girl had been meant to stay and demurely cut up and supply Aziraphale’s food for him. How... unpleasant.</p><p>To learn how he was supposed to eat, Crowley watched Aziraphale slide the side of his fork into the cake and spear the bit he’d cut off. Then, pale icing clinging to the sponge, Aziraphale lifted the bite to and parted plump red lips. Something happened in Crowley’s stomach, a tight coil and a swooping sensation. There was also a rush of warmth when Aziraphale let out a small, sinful sound of pleasure. His tongue peeked out, swiping a bit of icing off his lower lip, and Crowley wanted to squirm. He didn’t because of the napping quails on his knees, but he very much wanted to. Especially when a second bite resulted in a very similar sound. </p><p>Tracy and Shadwell didn’t seem to notice, but Crowley found himself transfixed. Aziraphale’s eyes had gone right back to that bright blue, his pleasure so clear to anyone willing to look. Crowley was very willing to look. He never wanted to look away, didn’t even after Aziraphale finished his last bite. “Oh, that is scrumptious. Anthony, what-” He offered his plate, and Aziraphale laughed. “Good Heavens, my dear, you haven’t even taken a bite. I thought you wanted a piece?”</p><p>He’d rather watch Aziraphale eat some more, but dutifully sliced the side of his fork into the cake as he’d seen the prince do. On his tongue, the delicate sponge melted. Most of the sweetness came from the icing and, while not at all bad, Crowley was much more interested in seeing Aziraphale eat again. Hear more of those sounds.</p><p>“Do you like it?” Aziraphale wondered, so Crowley nodded. “Oh, good, I'm so glad.” Before he could try to pass the plate to him anyway, the prince cut himself a second slice and dug in.</p><p>As the noises rained sensation over his skin, Crowley soon found he was as warm as he could get whilst basking under the sun in Summer. Well then.</p><p> </p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>Later, when Tracy left to deliver Mr. Omerod’s suit and Shadwell was summarily dismissed, Crowley found himself being led down a hall by a limping prince. It wasn’t far from the rooms they’d dined in, thankfully, and Crowley carefully memorised the path. The quails on his shoulders, bright eyed and wide awake now, likely did the same. They were both good with directions.</p><p>Abruptly pausing outside a door Crowley assumed was his own, Aziraphale folded his hands in front of him. “I hope the accommodations are comfortable for you, Anthony. As much as Shadwell or, well, anyone else would believe this to be quite the faux pas, if something is wrong, please don’t hesitate to make your way back to my quarters. I wouldn’t mind the company of you or your friends.” </p><p>Feathers brushed each side of his neck when Crowley nodded. He’d very happily head back to Aziraphale’s room at the first sign of anything particularly curious. Or, well, for any other reason. </p><p>“Oh, good.” His smile was a little strained at the edges and he was clearly favouring one side still, drawing Crowley’s gaze to his legs.</p><p>Aziraphale waved the concern away. “Don’t fret over me, my dear. I’ll surely heal up within a few days. Faster than you can say tickety-boo! Or- or not faster than <em>you</em> can say it since you- Well- Gosh, that’s rather insensitive. I’m so sorry. I- Anthony!” he yelped, his own fretting vanishing on a startled yelp when Crowley’s hand fell to his thigh. “My dear fellow, that’s-”</p><p>Crowley didn’t wait to hear what it was, pushing gentle magic under Aziraphale’s clothes and over his leg. Unbreaking his bones had been the priority, but he’d left the job incomplete. More so than intended, considering his limp and current stance. He started to draw the magic upwards, feeling his brows draw together at the effort, but his wrist was grabbed.</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes were still blue, but they weren’t bright and sparkling. They were dark, a deep colour that reminded Crowley of the sky just before the stars began to appear. “Anthony, are you... You mustn’t.”</p><p>He tipped his head to the side, brows arching. Of course he should. He couldn’t leave him injured. That was part of the point of being there, wasn’t it? He’d wanted to make sure Aziraphale was alright and now he could. The illegality of it hardly mattered to him, not when Aziraphale and Tracy clearly had their secrets. </p><p>Aziraphale’s voice lowered to a whisper. “You heard Sergeant Shadwell, my dear. Magic has been outlawed in Mirari. Gabriel and my siblings have never taken kindly to it, I’m afraid, so you must take care not to use it. Especially not here. If any of my siblings were to see, I... I don’t believe I’d be able to protect you.”</p><p>Crowley stared at him a beat, then continued to push his healing magic into his skin to soothe the bruises. He focused on his arm until his grabbed wrist was tossed aside and Aziraphale took a step back. He held up his hands when Crowley advanced. “Please. No. You've done a remarkable job, my dear. My leg feels... Well, almost as good as new now and so does my arm. So please don't misunderstand. I am very grateful. You should stay safe, however. That's far more a priority to me than my own state. Do you understand?” </p><p>It didn't make any sense to Crowley, so he shook his head and made a soft sound. He could heal him. What was the danger in that? His family probably wouldn't even notice. </p><p>Aziraphale’s smile returned, soft and gentle. “Don't fret, my dear. Just be wary of those good deeds.”</p><p><em>Good deeds?! </em>“Ngk!” </p><p>“Well, I fail to see what else they would be called.” Aziraphale gently tugged on his waistcoat. “Certainly not bad deeds. But please express to me that you understand the importance of what I'm telling you. You must not, under any circumstances, reveal any magic tendencies around my family. No one in this entire castle, for that matter. Please, Anthony, I'd so hate for you to be harmed.” </p><p>Crowley gazed at him for a few seconds before nodding. He'd just have to use his magic subtly and sparingly - no problem. </p><p>“Oh. Oh, good.” Relieved, Aziraphale took his hand and gave it a gentle pat. “Thank you. I'm going to have someone come draw you a bath, as I'm not entirely certain you'll know how. And Tracy's going to return first thing tomorrow in order to tailor these clothes for you. Can't have you attending a proper dinner with these, I'm afraid. Gabriel would throw quite the fit.”</p><p>Crowley looked down at the ill-fitting clothes, and lifted his hand in a simple snap. It was an instinct, the move something he'd seen before but certainly never attempted. His fingers were still new, but the sound they made was clear and the suit he'd been gifted suddenly clung to him like a second skin. </p><p>Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath, cheeks pink and eyes a blue-gray Crowley rather liked. “Gosh. I suppose... I suppose that certainly saves Tracy a bit of work. You're very lucky she won't hold any ill will towards you.” He lowered his voice after checking down the hall. “She's a witch herself, you see.”</p><p>Crowley arched a brow. Yes. He'd figured that out, not nearly as oblivious as Shadwell. </p><p>Aziraphale tutted at him. “Oh, I'm sure you could tell. Foul fiend.” His smile returned when Crowley laughed, the softest sounds of glee escaping. He'd missed Aziraphale. He really, truly had. And, voice or no voice, he was so glad to be able to at least be around him again. </p><p>Aziraphale squeezed his hand and released him, taking a step back. “Oh,” he sighed, reaching down to rub his left thigh. “I do feel much better. Thank you, my dear. Have a wonderful night. I'll call for you come morning.”</p><p>Crowley nodded, watching carefully as Aziraphale opened the door for him and waved him inside. “Goodnight, Anthony.”</p><p>
  <em>Goodnight, angel. </em>
</p><p>Crowley smiled and stepped inside the room, surprised by its size. It was smaller than Aziraphale’s little library, but the bed near the window was large and there were two armchairs tucked on the room's opposite side. There was also a small table with a reflection. For the life of him, Crowley couldn't recall the name of the contraption but was filled with a buzzing excitement all the same. He could see himself. </p><p>But first he turned to see Aziraphale, to smile at him one more time that night, and smiled brighter when Aziraphale waved goodbye. He returned the wave, missing him immediately once the door was closed. </p><p>“That was so pitiful,” Anathema announced, barely waiting for the door to latch. Crowley sighed gustily at her, but didn't swat her off his shoulder as he went to the reflection. “It was,” she cheerfully insisted, hopping off onto the table when he sat. </p><p>Newt followed, wings flapping a little wildly until he was stable and balanced. “It seemed like the prince was impressed anyway. He's very... sad.”</p><p>He was. Under all his cheer and kindness, there was a loneliness Crowley recognised too well. Even the little quails wouldn't live as long as he would, so loneliness was something he expected to have to suffer very soon. At least very soon for a fae. </p><p>Though when he peered at his reflection, he didn't see a fae at all. He saw a human. His red hair made him blink, the dark auburn reminding him faintly of his underbelly scales. He was also more angular than he'd expected to be, tall and slim but probably attractive. He really was a bad judge of it when it came to humans, but was vain enough to think he couldn't possibly look bad. Then he took off the dark glasses and he understood. </p><p>His eyes were gold. The same gold he saw in every pool of still water, the same black slits going down the center. The entirety of his eyes weren't golden, no, the coloured bit appearing very human-sized indeed. But the slits... Crowley sighed. Maybe Prince Beelzebub <em>had</em> cursed him. How was he supposed to explain these away otherwise? </p><p>“That's nice,” Newt said. “Your eyes, I mean. At least you have something familiar to look at.”</p><p>Always the bright side with him, though Crowley did have to admit it was a little comforting to see not everything about him had changed. And at least they’d given him sunglasses. He pushed them back onto his face when a maid knocked and stepped in, sending him a cautious smile before striding to a screen. Crowley heard a squeak, then running water, his head tilting to the side until the girl returned to view. </p><p>“Your bath is prepared, sir. Will you need any assistance?”</p><p>He briefly wondered what would happen if he went to fetch Aziraphale for help, noting the faint, uncomfortable blush on her cheeks. He shook his head and she curtsied. “Thank you, sir. Goodnight, sir.” Then she was gone.</p><p>“Weird,” Anathema decided and neither Crowley nor Newt argued.</p><p>Crowley rose, using the table to pull himself up, and made his way to the screen. A large white basin was filled with water and bubbles. Crowley recognised it. He’d seen humans in these before. He’d terrified several out of them before. The healing magic, sparer than he may have wanted, had still been enough to tire him, so he undressed the human way. Or the fumbling human way, anyway, with lots of tugging and uncertainty. He eventually managed to strip down, the quails perched on the tub’s edge to watch him climb in. It may or may not have been a small disaster of wildly flailing limbs and a splash which sloshed water onto the floor, but it was nice and warm and soothing against his skin. Like a sun-warmed pond.</p><p>He tipped his head back and gazed towards the ceiling, his sigh long as the warm waters and flower-scented bubbles soothed his new muscles. He didn’t quite know what else he was supposed to do in there, so he just laid and relaxed and daydreamed about Aziraphale. All that plump warmth in the water with him would be nice. Either in front of him so Crowley could twine all of these new limbs around him or behind him so Crowley could snuggle back and maybe get entwined himself. Either scenario was nice, both serving to make him sigh again.</p><p>“So what’s the plan?” Anathema wondered. “Do you even have one?”</p><p><em>A plan?</em> He glanced over at her, brows arching.</p><p>She chirped, unimpressed. “You’re <em>here</em>, and you’ve healed him. He seems really nice, but all that talk about his family and not using magic makes this seem... Well, it’s dangerous.”</p><p>“Very dangerous,” Newt agreed.</p><p>Crowley pressed his lips together, sinking further into the bubbly waters. He knew it was dangerous to be there, but he wasn’t going to be caught or called out. They’d already said he was cursed and no one would be able to lift it. Fine. Problems solved.</p><p>Except for Aziraphale’s family. The acting king and the remaining princes and princess. “Ngk.”</p><p>Newt rustled his feathers, little body wiggling. “I think the plan is, er, to stay alive and keep being Aziraphale’s friend?” Crowley pointed at him, satisfied that at least one bird understood him.</p><p>Anathema’s sigh came out as a little trill. “Alright. Just so long as we don’t get killed.”</p><p>Crowley would prefer to not die as well, so he nodded and laid back again to let the bath thing soothe him and lull him into a tiredness normally brought on by basking in the warm sun for too long. With no idea how to empty the tub, he rose and found a nearby towel. He could figure out what that was for easily enough. Sometimes screaming humans used it to cover themselves before fleeing and sometimes they didn’t, so it was clearly part of the bath experience. And the way it absorbed water made it quite obvious what part it played.</p><p>He used it to dry himself off and left his clothes in a heap on the floor, dropping the towel next to it. The floors were chilly on his bare feet, but he crossed to the big bed. He’d seen plenty of humans in these too and had spent a time or two under blankets as a snake, so slipped beneath them now as a human. The quails followed him, perching on a pillow after he settled on the right side. It wasn’t a bad thing, being a human. Not really. A little lacklustre, perhaps, but not terrible. No better or worse than being a snake, though he’d had such high hopes.</p><p>Then again, holding Aziraphale’s hand was an absolute pleasure. It was nearly humiliating just how much he loved that soft, warm hand in his.</p><p>He gazed up at the ceiling, ready to fall asleep. It didn’t happen straightaway, but his world slowly got darker and darker as his eyelids drooped lower and lower over his eyes. If he hadn’t been as tired as he was, his own excitement would’ve ruined the whole experience. But, eventually, his world went entirely dark and he could sleep in peace.</p><p>Eyelids really were as good as he’d hoped.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aziraphale and cake. How can one go wrong? 🤣</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Coiling Snek</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tracy flexes some muscle, an angel begins a lesson, and a snake is charmed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to my betas, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface">SkimmingTheSurface</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona">ladydragona</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24">freyjawriter24</a></p><p>--</p><p>First off, so sorry for missing last week's update. Life has been pushing me around as of late and I've lost my update cushion. Might have to drop updates to every other week until the situation and, therefore, my muse is soothed</p><p>Second off, Tracy wasn't supposed to stick around but she put her foot down and I relented with ease 🤣</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley didn’t want to open his eyes, sighing contentedly. He could see a sheen of colour through his lowered eyelids, but it was odd. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it was similar to the way sounds could be muffled. Could vision be muffled? Was that an alright way to consider eyelids? It wasn’t as if he could <em>ask</em>.</p><p>All of his unanswerable - or, rather, <em>unaskable</em> - questions were starting to make him feel stupid and he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet. Maybe it was a blessing they’d taken his voice. He’d probably come off as a right tit if he could voice any of his complaints and questions to anyone. Comparisons to his snake form, too, would probably be very confusing.</p><p>That didn’t make him feel less like an idiot. </p><p>He scrubbed his hands over his face, fascinated by the way the pressure over his eyelids changed the colours and added some spots, but he’d learned his lesson enough that he didn’t push too hard. His hands fell away at a happy trilling, and he tried to open only one eye. He failed spectacularly, face muscles seeming to spasm and one eye absolutely refusing to stay shut when another opened. He didn’t know how to fix that, at all, so winking was not for him.</p><p>“Are you in pain?” Newt wondered and Crowley glared, very tempted to swat him right off the bed. He wiggled a little instead, finally pushing his hands back to sit up. He hoped he remembered how to walk, but was content enough to just sit in the room. He’d hardly paid it any mind the night before, more interested in the bath and sleeping. The candle that had been burning on the bedside table had burned itself out sometime in the night, and a simple wave of his hand restored it. Bugger magic being outlawed. What did he care about a human prison sentence?</p><p>But, then, he’d lose possible time with Aziraphale. Hm. Another wave of his hand halved the candle. That seemed better. More plausible if anyone came in. <em>Would</em> someone come in? What was he supposed to do about...</p><p>He hissed, rearing back fast and hard enough to crack his head against the slab of carved wood that kept his bed separated from the wall. “Ngk! Mngh, ssh, ffzz...”</p><p>“I was wondering when you’d notice me, luv. But I’m going to assume those weren’t intended to be very gentlemanly words.” Tracy chuckled, seeming quite unfazed by the fact that she was in his room and he was naked. Again. At least he had a sheet over the dangly bits now so she couldn’t cluck her tongue at them. </p><p>He waved at her, a few more sounds spilling out, and she carefully shook out the black fabric she was working on and held it up. It looked like a shapeless lump with arms to him. He sat up a little straighter, so much so that he ended up pitching forward a bit and looking from it to her. His eyes were wide and curious, questions tumbling end over end until he realised his <em>eyes were wide</em>.</p><p>Panicked, he fumbled for the dark frames he’d been given and pushed them onto his nose.</p><p>“No need for that, Anthony. We both know you’re from the forest, don’t we?” He made some sort of choking sound and she smiled. She didn’t stop working her needle through the fabric, though, and he was starting to realise that the fabric was stretching and bunching under her fingers a little too much for such methodical motions. “I may not be, but there were quite a few rumours about my mother. The question is, though, are you a fae or are you really just cursed? Or is it a spot of both?”</p><p>He squirmed, decidedly uncomfortable, but then she held up his lump and he could see how the arms had thinned and lengthened. He waved a hand towards her and it again. She smiled. “Ignoring the question? Alright, luv. That’s fine. If you’re wondering if Aziraphale knows I’m here, the answer is no. If you’re wondering how I have your measurements, well, you’re quite the deep sleeper.”</p><p>He shot the birds a sharp look for not waking him, realising Newt was alone on the pillow. Anathema, he noted, was perched on the arm of Tracy’s chair. The traitor. She trilled. “Don’t worry, <em>Anthony</em>. Everything’s fine.” He almost threw a pillow at her, but wasn’t quite sure how to coordinate that and, as a result, only smacked himself in the leg.</p><p>Tracy laughed, shaking out the fabric. “What do you think, Anthony? It's a coat.” A coat. It was apparently completed, so he only offered a shrug. “You’ll need it with the chill in the air,” she explained, rising from the chair to toss it over the screen separating the tub from the rest of the room. His clothes from the day before and towel were next to it rather than in the heap he’d left them in the night before.</p><p>“We haven’t told her anything,” Newt promised quietly, the relief that garnered earning him a gentle rub atop his feathery head. “Just that you’re not here to hurt anyone.”</p><p>Well, he wasn’t there specifically to hurt anyone. If the chance arose to maybe cause some, ah, discomfort to some of Aziraphale’s siblings, that was his business. He did wonder how Michael had fared with the rats, hopeful to hear any news about that during his stay.</p><p>While he watched, Tracy returned to the chair and poked her needle through fresh black fabric, not bothering with the pretence as it worked through the fabric to turn it to some sort of shape. Was it the needle, he wondered, or the thread that was enchanted? “There’s been a change of plans for me, actually, now that you’re here. I’ll be staying a few days,” she explained with a smile. “Just until I’ve figured out whether or not you’re as harmless as your friends say.”</p><p>Crowley’s lips quirked into something he hoped was displeased. He wasn’t <em>harmless</em> just because he didn’t mean Aziraphale harm. He was still fae, magic thankfully not stunted by the transformation. Honestly, if Beelzebub had really wanted to hurt him, they would’ve figured out a way to take that instead of his voice.</p><p>Tracy didn’t seem fazed by his expression. No more than Anathema, anyway. Newt was making his best sympathetic noises. “I’ve got the room on the other side of the hall. The others have enough space for three guests, but Aziraphale just has the two. I don’t believe he’s ever had them both filled before, but he’s had quite the accident. It only makes sense that he has a concerned friend and another friend she’s brought from town. Someone who’s in a spot of trouble and could use some help. What do you think?”</p><p>She sent him a look and, well, he understood a plot when one was being explained to him. He nodded in simple acceptance. As long as it made things simpler for Aziraphale, he’d be fine. For someone’s sake, he was fairly sure he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. It was mildly annoying, but he didn’t have much reason or opportunity to argue about it. </p><p>Clearly pleased with him, Tracy crossed to him and offered an object. He took it with a confused tilt of the head. “It’s a brush, dear. Run the bristles through your hair and get out some of those tangles. It’ll look and feel better.” Her smile changed, something impish that Crowley couldn’t help but like. “Aziraphale might like to see it done a little nicer than it was yesterday.”</p><p>He brushed his hair.</p><p>Newt hopped up to his shoulder, pricking his skin lightly with his talons. It wasn’t enough to be a bother, so he let him settle in the soft waves the brush turned his rough curls into. Tracy beamed approvingly, producing a pair of feet coverings - shoes? And the under-shoes, he noted, but what were those called? He couldn’t remember. “There we are. All ready for the day. You slept right on through breakfast, I’m afraid, but you keep an ear out. Aziraphale should call on you for lunch. A maid’ll come around. Though if you need me, send one of your lovely friends along. And if you behave yourself, I won’t tell Aziraphale they can talk or that I found you coming out of the forest.”</p><p>There was a threat there. He couldn’t help but like that too, amused that she thought she could meet him in power but glad that she’d try for Aziraphale. The prince had mentioned her as being his friend, but he hadn’t quite known what that meant until right then. Crowley could feel his lips pull themselves into a smile, and bobbed his head. She set the shoes and under-shoes - hopefully someone would say the word soon - down beside his bed and patted his cheek. “There’s a love. I’ll be seeing you soon.”</p><p>Yes, probably. He didn’t know what he’d have to do to prove that he didn’t mean Aziraphale any harm, but it wasn’t her trust he cared about. The prince seemed to have made up his own mind already, so Crowley was satisfied.</p><p>He also wanted to get out of bed so pushed himself to the edge and tossed aside the coverings. He swung his legs over the edge and carefully pushed himself up, pleased when he only wobbled a little. “You’re doing better with the new body already,” Newt pointed out, a happy trill attached to the words.</p><p>Anathema was less impressed, landing on the screen. “He needs to. What if you have to run away from something, Crowley? You can’t just wobble around and expect things to go well forever.”</p><p>Paranoid bird, always prepared for trouble of some sort. He waved her off, making his hip-swishing way to the screen to get his clothes, and she hopped across the screen to land on his hand. He waved it before she could peck him. </p><p>“I’m serious. Tracy said she saw you in the cards.” He shrugged into his shirt, brows lifting in question. “She said she looks into Aziraphale’s future occasionally and saw danger.”</p><p>“And love,” Newt offered, Crowley swiveling to look at him with eyes wide behind his sunglasses. It threw him off-balance enough that he ended up collapsing into the armchair Tracy had left behind.</p><p><em>Love</em>. He wasn’t there for that. But he wasn’t there for danger, either. This was just... It clearly meant someone else. Though the mere <em>thought</em> of Aziraphale falling in love with someone made something low in his torso clench and twist. Like the snake he was had made its home in his belly and was twisted up and biting. But that didn’t mean he-</p><p>Aziraphale was a <em>human</em>. A very kind, unique, wonderful human but a human nonetheless. It wasn’t possible. He’d be his friend. A shaky snap of his fingers put him in his clothes, buttoned and covered accordingly. It was cheating, but he didn’t much care. He shook his head sharply in Newt’s direction before pushing himself up.</p><p>“You can’t deny that this is a little... extreme,” Anathema said. “You gave up your voice just so you could be a human for one winter. Unless the plan changed and you asked for longer?” He shook his head, taking a few testing steps in the new boots he’d been given. His hips still swayed a bit too much, but he liked the feel of it. It didn’t feel plain. “Okay,” Anathema continued, “but you’ve still put yourself in a very dangerous situation just to... to be his friend?”</p><p>Why did that have to be an odd thing? Scowling, he made his way to the window and stared at the unusual bobs attached to it before waving a hand to open it. And then he pointed out meaningfully. He was <em>not</em> there for love and he was <em>not</em> there to cause trouble for the prince, for someone’s sake.</p><p>“Fine.” Anathema rustled her feathers before flapping her wings and sailing to the open window. “Come on, Newt!”</p><p>“Oh. Um. Er. Okay.” He glided messily to the windowsill and looked up at Crowley with a soft trill. “We’ll be back later, alright?”</p><p>Crowley wanted to tell them not to bother, frustrated and embarrassed and something he didn’t have a label for. Instead, he sighed and gave him a small nod. He left the window open when someone knocked on his door, giving the birds easy access for their routine.</p><p>And then didn’t give the window another thought when the maid told him, “His Highness, Prince Aziraphale, wishes for your company in his study.”</p><p>----</p><p>“I confess I’ve never taught anyone how to read and write before, so I’m not entirely sure where to start.”</p><p>By Crowley’s estimation, he’d decided to start with half of his library. But there was a deep seated satisfaction in the way Aziraphale was able to wander around his study and pick books up off shelves, flip through them, replace them, and move onto the next. There was hardly any stiffness left in his leg or arm, his pale curls bouncy and fine, and his eyes that bright blue Crowley so adored. Enjoyed. Appreciated? Sure. This wasn’t any sort of adoration here, no, though his lips curved when Aziraphale looked at him.</p><p>Every time Aziraphale looked at him. </p><p>“Well, I suppose I do know. We need you to be able to recognise letters, so we’ll begin with the alphabet. I have some parchment and a few of my preferred quill designs. We’ll have to see what feels most comfortable in your grasp. Ah! Then we should start with holding the quills, shouldn’t we?”</p><p>He smiled over his shoulder, a little sheepish, and Crowley felt his lips curve against his will. “Dreadfully sorry, dear fellow. I have a terrible habit of rambling on.” Crowley waved a hand dismissively, watching Aziraphale’s smile warm. “Alright, then. I suppose the best thing to do now is to begin.”</p><p>He sat on what he’d called a sofa, Crowley looking down at this new spot of comparison. His thighs were far more slender than Aziraphale’s, the thickness very appealing. It pressed warmth into his own, his heart skipping at every shift, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when his hand was taken. Aziraphale immediately let go and leaned away. “Oh! I’m so sorry, my dear, I thought you were paying attention.”</p><p>“Ngk.” He had been, but apparently not to the correct parts of the soft prince.</p><p>“I asked if you knew which hand was dominant?” Crowley’s brow furrowed as he looked down at his hands. Size was normally the determining factor in serpentine dominance, but his hands were very much the same size. Aziraphale chuckled. “May I?”</p><p>Though he had no idea what he was agreeing to, he nodded. If anyone was trustworthy, it was Aziraphale. The prince rose with a pillow in hand, though, and Crowley’s protest came out in a soft, meaningless sound. “Don’t fret, Anthony,” he soothed, making him bristle. He wasn’t <em>fretting</em>. His thigh was suddenly colder and he didn’t like it. Nothing to fret over. Obviously.</p><p>“Now I’m going to throw this to you, and I want you to catch it. Then throw it back. Are you ready?”</p><p>Oh, bollocks. Throwing was not in his wheelhouse. Catching wasn’t either because, even though he’d nodded in agreement to his readiness, his right hand lifted only after the pillow smacked him in the face.</p><p>“Anthony! You said you were ready, you silly thing.” He sounded exasperated, but very fond. Crowley’s cheeks were only a little pink when he tugged the pillow away and adjusted his sunglasses. “Now throw it back. Whichever hand is comfortable.”</p><p>He didn’t know why the right hand felt more confident and coordinated, but he bunched the pillow up in his fist and threw it. It made it further than the one he’d attempted to throw at Anathema earlier that morning, this one actually having some forward momentum, but it only went so far as the table. His fiercest glare made it go no further, but any soft grumbling was lost under Aziraphale’s cheerful giggles.</p><p>“Well, that’s alright.” Still smiling broadly, he rejoined Crowley on the couch and scooped the pillow back up. “Now that I know which is your dominant hand, we can begin.” Crowley watched him pick up a quill, most of the feathers shorn away to leave a long, thin stem. “Now, do you see?” He leaned closer, so Crowley did the same and truly did his best not to be distracted by the body heat emanating from him. “You hold it like this, with your index finger bent like so. It and your thumb should guide most of the motion with your middle finger providing support.”</p><p>He righted and uncorked a bottle of blackness, dipping the quill in and drawing a sheet of paper closer. Crowley watched with interest as he dashed loops over the page. “There, see? That’s your name.” Crowley pitched forward to look even closer, brows lifting high as he studied the loops anew. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but knowing it said <em>Anthony</em> was fascinating. </p><p>“Mngk.” He gestured at Aziraphale and at the paper, grin bright, and Aziraphale’s smile turned indulgent. </p><p>“My name?” Crowley nodded eagerly, watching again as he took quite a bit longer to scrawl a second name underneath the first. The big loops at the beginning were the same. It was likely an embarrassing thing to be excited by, but he thought he had a right to it. Even though the name was fake, he could always keep it. Anthony Crowley didn’t sound so bad. Longer names were safer for fae anyway.</p><p>He reached out and traced that first loop. <em>A</em>. “A,” Aziraphale said beside him, so Crowley went down the swirl and, for the first time, heard how Anthony should be spelled. Then again for Aziraphale.</p><p>Smiling, Aziraphale held out his quill and Crowley held it limply. “Like I showed you. You don’t mind if I continue to touch your hand, do you?” Crowley shook his head, helpless to do anything else. “Wonderful. If it does get to be too much, you need only say so. Er. Pull away? I’m so sorry. All of these figures of speech are-”</p><p>Crowley impulsively knocked their knees together, pulling Aziraphale’s attention away from his fretting to get it back for himself. He wasn’t offended by figures of speech, and Aziraphale hadn’t worried about them when he was a snake. “Ngk,” he said, hoping it sounded soothing.</p><p>“Right. Yes. You understand what I meant, of course. I do apologise, Anthony, really. I’ll ramble all day given the chance. Now. To the positioning.” He reached over, helping Crowley bend his fingers around the quill appropriately. It felt a little awkward, but his grip was a sure one. It made sense, he decided. Best of all, it came with Aziraphale cooing at him. “There we are, my dear. That’s wonderful. Now, why don’t you play around a bit with some squiggles just to get used to the feel of the quill in your hand? Yes?”</p><p>He helped guide Crowley’s hand to the black, showing him how to get some onto the quill’s tip. “Now be mindful of the ink. I know you’re already wearing black, but I would so hate for it all to spill. I don’t tend to advocate for waste.”</p><p>“Which makes one wonder why you’re doing whatever <em>this</em> is,” someone snootily asked from behind them. </p><p>Aziraphale tensed, hands falling away from Crowley as he rose. His posture was straight, hands clasping tightly behind his back, and Crowley knew he didn’t like whoever this was. “Sandalphon.” Right. Crowley knew he didn’t like Sandalphon. “I wasn’t expecting you. I’m in the middle of something.”</p><p>“Yes, we heard. Teaching a <em>mute</em> how to write?”</p><p>“I- He needs to be able to communicate.”</p><p>“I don’t know. You were communicating just fine being... handsy.”</p><p>Crowley definitely didn’t like Sandalphon. Aziraphale’s cheeks turned scarlet, but he quickly shook his head. “It isn’t like that. He’s never held a quill, and that isn’t something one teaches without a bit of, er, contact.”</p><p>Sandalphon turned his gaze towards Crowley, who felt his lips pull into something a lot less pleasant than the smiles Aziraphale so effortlessly earned. The unfortunately egg-shaped human bared his teeth in something that could loosely be called a grin, a spot of gold glinting in his mouth. “If he's that stupid, is it even worth effort?” </p><p>Aziraphale’s chin lifted. “His ears work fine, Sandalphon, and I will thank you not to be so rude to our people.”</p><p>He sneered. “We'll see what Gabriel thinks.”</p><p>“Yes, I suppose we will.”</p><p>Sandalphon scanned Aziraphale carefully, gaze flicking over him suspiciously. “Looks like you’ve healed up... quickly.”</p><p>“Well, I... The healer did say I wasn’t, ah, as bad as I should’ve been.”</p><p>“Mm. Thanks to your... mysterious rescuer?”</p><p>Crowley’s shoulders tensed. It had been sweet, the way Aziraphale had described him the night before. But to have Sandalphon taunting him was... Well, it just felt <em>wrong</em>. He didn’t have any right to talk about him like he was insane. Especially since Crowley knew better than anyone that Aziraphale was right. There <em>had </em>been someone, and he <em>had </em>waited until he’d been safe. </p><p>Aziraphale squeezed his own hand, Crowley able to see the bends turning white. “Thanks to something. Perhaps the Lord is watching out for me.”</p><p>Sandalphon bared his teeth again. “Right. Well, you’re expected for dinner tonight. If you’re feeling better.”</p><p>“Wonderful. I’ll have a guest.” He gestured to Crowley, who blinked behind his sunglasses in surprise. <em>Wot</em>? </p><p>“The mute?” Sandalphon demanded, seeming just as surprised.</p><p>“<em>Anthony</em> will be accompanying me. I’ll remind the kitchens after our lesson here is finished, so no need to trouble yourself, Sandalphon.”</p><p>He scanned Aziraphale again, then aimed his sneer Crowley’s way again. “Fine. But I’ll let Gabriel know.”</p><p>Aziraphale cleared his throat, hands back behind him. “Feel free.”</p><p>“Hm. Do try not to get too <em>cosy</em> with a lower class citizen, Aziraphale. It would be most... unbecoming.”</p><p>“I’m not! We’re not- We’re just friends,” Aziraphale hastily assured him and, really, that shouldn’t hurt. Crowley agreed. Of course he agreed. He wasn’t there for love or any such thing, just as he’d told Anathema and Newt. He wanted to be Aziraphale’s friend and that was all. </p><p>It still caused something in his chest to ache, though, and he was starting to suspect that’s where his heart was. And that wasn’t good, though it did distract him enough that he didn’t notice Sandalphon leave. He didn’t know he was gone at all until Aziraphale’s hands swept in front of him, getting wrung together in a way that surely wasn’t actually comfortable. </p><p>“I’m so terribly sorry about that, my dear fellow. My brother - my <em>half</em>-brother - is generally in charge of the more... militant aspects of ruling. He’s as much a stickler for the rules as Gabriel.” And a snitch, Crowley was willing to guess. All that nonsense about seeing how Gabriel would feel. “You must know,” Aziraphale continued, watching his own hands, “that I share absolutely none of those beliefs. I certainly don’t feel that teaching you to read and write will be a waste, nor do I believe for even a moment that you’re at all stupid. And I am <em>deeply</em> apologetic for the way I invited you to dinner. I don’t know <em>what</em> came over me to be so... so rude as to make assumptions, and you’re of course free to refuse.”</p><p>Crowley pushed himself up while Aziraphale babbled, pretty proud of himself for not pitching forward and only feeling his knees wobble a little. He didn’t have a complete plan, or really anything even remotely resembling a plan, but he had instincts. Snakelike or not, he thought this was one that could probably be trusted. He’d seen humans coil around each other before, so it should be fine.</p><p>He wound his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and pulled him close, resting his chin atop fluffy curls. They were soft, tickling just a little, but not at all in a way that made him want to move. Having those soft curves pressed against him like this was an unexpectedly nice sensation, even with Aziraphale’s hands trapped between them. They’d stopped wringing, at least.</p><p>“Anthony,” Aziraphale sighed, hands sliding up to lay against Crowley’s chest. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this isn’t appropriate.”</p><p>“Ngk.” He really didn’t care.</p><p>Degree by degree, Aziraphale proved he didn’t either. He seemed to flow into the angles and planes of Crowley’s body like water, all of that plushness settling in and Aziraphale’s next sigh warm against Crowley’s throat. Successful coiling, he supposed, though his pulse was galloping. “Thank you, my dear, but this really is unnecessary. I suppose Sandalphon can be a bit... unpleasant, but I’m sure he means well. They all do, in their own ways.”</p><p>Too soon, Aziraphale pushed on his chest and made him take a step back. But he was smiling when Crowley frowned down at him and that jumbled his mind and heart all the more. Oh, bollocks, he was in trouble, wasn’t he?</p><p>“You’ll come to dinner, won’t you? I’d very much like your company, Anthony.” He was in so much trouble, Crowley decided. He nodded, watching the bright blue sparkle its way back into Aziraphale’s gaze. “Thank you.”</p><p>Right. Trouble with a capital whatever it started with.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on tumblr at <a href="https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/">Syl-Writes-Stuff</a> and my phenomenal betas at <a href="https://skimmingmilk.tumblr.com/">skimmingmilk</a>, <a href="https://theladydrgn.tumblr.com/">theladydrgn</a>, and <a href="https://freyjawriter24.tumblr.com/">freyjawriter24</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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